I wake up sensing the city.
A silence that’s reminiscent of Bogotá Sundays and their thick meditative calmness that pulls me deeper into the covers, grasping tightly at the passing hours of the ending weekend and reminiscing on moments marked by lyrics that linger.
Salient possibilities present themselves through the colors and smells I’ve come to associate with the day, this city, this country from so far away.
Tracing the full-bodied green of the eastern mountain range, I join the rhythmic sound of a Sunday ciclovia, pedestrians and bike riders on both sides moving along the heartbeat of the city. Bogotá breathes and exhales passion.
I allow myself to sink in, blanketed in the warmth of vibrant blues, greens, and yellows of street art. Hands entwined, I discover and rediscover, lose and find myself to gaitas and chaos that soothes.
There is purpose in this, and I’m reminded through echoes of memories that reverberate and smile.