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In my case, the village is named Rachana. I spent Easter there in the little village where I was born, where I grew up, and then left to go to college thirty-three years ago. I was fortunate to live in a small village, where everyone had a hand in raising all children. From the sculptor, to the priest, to the stonemasons, the farmers, the doctor, and the author, they all shaped my life and those of my boyhood friends. Participating in Easter mass in the old church, many memories rushed through my head as I watched the old faces that were once young, and the sons and daughters of the boys and girls I grew up with. Lifes twists and turns, which brought me from my village of three hundred to the city of Albuquerque, have scattered my friends around the world. For each one of them, their path bears a trace of olive trees, the smell of earth and wild flowers, and the echoes of the voices of our elders—the sculptor, the priest, the stonemason.'


The University of New Mexico




The University of New Mexico