Probaditas de Morelia

There's just something about the light in Mexico.
It's different. Softer. Warmer. Deeper maybe. But definitely different. Like a gentle filter added to life to make it more inviting, more friendly, and a little less urgent.

Although I imagine descriptions of color and light are best left to poets, I doubt even the pros could capture the enveloping glow that pervades every dawn and each dusk. My camera, equally impotent in this regard, must be incapable of processing Mexican colors with its cold aluminum body and Japanese eye.

Marisol first pointed it out, this issue of the Mexican light and its indescribable character. Few days have passed since that haven't found me stopped for a brief second, pondering its special quality. And now, when asked what I'll miss, my response is almost universally met with confused stares. Like I said, it's indescribable.