On a bustling street in Mexico City, above the honking cars, routed sidewalks and busy shops,

there is a small window, and inside that window, there is a woman in her art studio.

She is the Mexican painter, Julia Lopez, dipping her brush into different pots of paint

and sweeping the colors across her canvas.

She creates a glorious landscape of rolling green hills, fields of yellow, orange, and lavender flowers,

and a shimmering blue river winding through.

There is something so important about this painting.

It feels like it's a part of her very being.

Julia grew up in a place like this,

the daughter of farmers who were of African and indigenous heritage.

As she steps back and pauses to look at her work,

she smiles at a small wooden figurine on the shelf next to her.

It's a wooden donkey, carved carefully and painted in bright designs.

There are many little animals like this lined up on her shelf, gifts that her father made

for her when she was just a little girl so many years ago.

Ah, Papa, she thinks to herself.

You are always so good with your hands.

She picks up the small donkey to admire it,

and when she does, she hears the sound of children, laughing and calling her name.

Julia, Julia startled. She spins around to investigate. There is nobody here with her.

She peeks out of the window of her art studio and finds the usual scene of cars zipping along.

People walking and chatting.

...