At a Colca Canyon overlook, a few women sell to tourists. This woman shuffles in the road in apparent oblivion. I greet her and realize she sees and hears very poorly. Her hands reach toward me and as I met them with mine she strokes my hands gently and speaks softly in Quechua. "What", I wonder, "is it like in her world? And what is it that allows me to feel connected to her as our hands touch?" And sense this connection again as I see this photo and remember this moment - an ephemeral stillness. This is why I travel and why a shared language is not always necessary. . . . .

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