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I faced the silhouette of the majestic mountains, a small part of the great Sierra Madre, on a chilly February morning. Whipped like icing on top of the misty dark mountain silhouette are the silvery white clouds hovering slowly where the wind gently blows. They covered the sunlight, so the big fiery ball of fire seemed like a dim lamp in the early morning. Faint light streaks cut through the clouds painting the town gray.

The tiny roof dwellers chirped and flew away. My heavy footsteps must have startled these little brown Mayas. The windmill’s blades standing tall amidst the tropical trees, rotated according to the morning breeze’s command.

The town went about its daily life. Children in school uniforms walked their way out of the narrow street. The sweeper in the yellow shirt made its broom dance with the litter. Tricycles and bikes passed by one after the other. Stray cats yawned as they lay comfortably on the pavement. Two toddlers goofed around with their new pitch-black puppy.

I stood and watched the world for a few minutes as they started their day before I finally decided to start mine.