At the water’s edge, she wore a skirt rich with pattern and color, held close by a woven sash. Beside her stood a man in a Western hat, checked shirt and decorated belt. Their arms remained gently linked.
I did not ask where they were born, and the photograph cannot answer that for us. It shows something quieter: we carry pieces of our history with us. In the fabrics we wear, the traditions we preserve and the hands we continue to hold.
Perhaps America is not a place where every thread must become the same. Perhaps its strength is found in the threads that remain visible.
Part of the story unfolding in CASA Issue No. 2: What Makes an American.
