Image: black tree to bees to dust

Hanging from a black dead tree that used to grow near the road that led to Boquillas, a small Mexican village, the destination of a long bus ride, was a yellow beehive. Large bees floated over the brown fields looking for the rare flower to bend in the dry land. Men stepped off the rough road to let us pass lowering their hats without turning their faces from the cloud of dust raised by the bus wheels as they fell behind us on their way home. The sun may not have been setting during my sixth and last arrival in Boquillas, but the brown concrete houses seemed to glow a mixture of reds and oranges.