The dusty countryside looked beautiful in the summer. Bearing the heat was worth it, just to see the array of pastels and browns that dotted the landscape. Ariana trudged through the valley, passing adobe-brick huts and taking in the natural wonder she had missed when she moved to the big city. This was what it felt like to come back home.
With her younger sister beside her (She has grown so fast, thought Ariana), she was on her way to see their grandmother. At the end of the valley, at the base of the next hill, they found an old adobe house, dilapidated but charming, peeking out through sprays of bright yellow flowers. The rain that fell at the top of the mountain ran down in streams to the base, so vegetation flourished here, unlike other places.
As the sisters walked through the flowers, a large, soft shape teetered out of the house, its wrinkles as numerous as the grasses in the valley. Two laughing black eyes popped out through the wrinkled features, defying the age the rest of her face showed. Smiling a toothless smile, she hobbled forward to greet her granddaughters with a kiss on each cheek.
I have never been to Bolivia and definitely do not know these girls or assume to know their life stories. The descriptions are in no way meant to imply that this is what the culture of Bolivia is like- it is merely what sprung into my imagination based on this picture, which I found here.
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Send me a picture of somewhere YOU have been in the world at firstname.lastname@example.org! My favorite picture will be featured on this blog with a little story to go along with it.