Santa Teresa, my family’s farm in Uruguay. The nearest tiny village is 15 kilometers away, over mainly dirt road.

I will be here one week. No TV. No radio. No newspaper. No phone. No Internet.

A chicken passes by. A leaf falls down.

One week. No deadlines. The usual dilemma—will I please myself or someone else—is not in the air.

Two cows stare at me, curious but coy (just like me, at times). A boy runs away from my camera. A dog barks.

Wheat grows. The corn is harvested. The soybeans are being planted.

One week. Right here. Right now.

—Bea Fresno


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