” The wind whistles within me. I am naked. Master of nothing, master of no one, not even master of my own convictions, I am my face in the wind against the wind, and I am the wind that strikes my face.” — Eduardo Galeano
Ursulatan, El Salvador. 1990. After more than 12 years of Civil war, a combatant rests after an evening patrol. 
In the late 1980s, I visited the Mesa Grande Refugee camp for Salvadorans fleeing the civil war in their homeland. There, I witnessed a people determined to survive years of conflict. I was drawn to the strength and resolve of thousands. 
A boy sells juice on the side of the road through a bus window. 
With a dusting of snow on the foothills of the Cascades in Southern Oregon a flock of Canada geese descend to the shores of Emmigrant Lake near Ashland, Oregon. 
A child holds a bundle of wood the family burns to make coal.