—– Up on the rolling hills of Pinar del Rio was born a girl with thin, brown hair. She was never pretty to stare at, or easy to listen to- but none of those things mattered yet. In the summer days as a young girl, she would skip barefoot down the pathways. And she would sing. Sometimes loudly, sometimes a mare whisper drowned by the tall trees around her. She had childish thoughts, about how the world spun and how her friends laughed. Others must have found her strange, dressed in all her rags. But she felt at ease among the dirt, singing all the while. She didn’t know it then, but she would search all her lifetime for that feeling.