I live up in the mountains of Colombia, in a vast ocean of buildings clustered together, sheltering a mixed nation from the beautiful grey drops of rain pouring down from Bogota's sky.
I listen to the sound of hooves on pavement, the carts rattling at the joints, and the soft Spanish of the Colombian people mix with engines and tires of sleek cars.
Smells of roasted corn, rain dripping from roofs, and fresh green vegetation tingled my nostrils as I sip my black coffee and eat a giant wafer smeared with condensed milk and Arequipa, a Colombian caramel treat.
I am a foreigner, yet if I don't open my mouth, maybe I can blend just a little in the crowd of high boots, tight jeans, colorful scarves, and fashionable black sweaters.
Here, where the clouds hang low and the oxygen is limited, my mind is excited by this rich city and its eclectic differences than my own. Looking out the window in the car, I pass old buildings and new, and see history changing every day as Bogota dismisses its past as runs forward into the future. I sit on the tail of this progress, mourn the passing yesterdays, yet eagerly await to see what unfolds tomorrow.
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