The weathered abuelo stared at a watercolor painting of a heavy laden peach tree, the colors of the ripe peaches glowing brightly against the white walls of the waiting room.
He clasped his hands in his lap and looked thoughtfully into them as if he were looking into the deepest parts of the earth.
He knew well how to look deeply into lost and beautiful things, for he was a migrant worker and understood the inner workings of the expansive earth and the human heart.
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