As we sit here in the open rear car, open to the air and the mountains and the clacking of the wheels along the tracks; I listen to the pan-flute music moving with the rhythm of the train.

The music is continuous and it plays through the wheels and rails even now that the musicians are gone.

My current view is of the grain fields.  The harvest is almost over and the Peruvians will give thanks for the bounty on June 21, their winter solstice.

The piles of sheared wheat sit in rows of cone shapes, their grainy spears spiraling to the centre, waiting to be placed in a multicoloured woven cloth and onto the backs of the men and women with their felt brimmed hats.

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