It is a quiet place where she lives, even during the day, but now, at 5 in the morning, everything is still. She walks past the pig in her yard, tethered to a banana tree and sleeping, and down the winding path that leads from her hilltop home to the mist-shrouded valley below. Her walk to the river will take several hours.
It is still dark when the woman rises from her bed, slips her callused feet into her flimsy pink flip flops, and begins the long walk for water. Already, the damp air smells of cooking fires, and before long, the blue sheen of wood smoke will rise above this small mountain village in Guatemala.
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