There, on Calle 9, the children are as they are, exuberant, bringing energy and youth to an otherwise forgotten street. Never without their mother, they are impatient, swinging loose their uniforms in favour of an afternoon treat.
At night, La Candalaria is a cauldron of warmth, music and comedy simmers through the cold breezes while students crowd together on the cobbled pavement.
Around the bend, on the streets, in coffee shops or over cervezas, the bongo beats while maracas chime through; music continues to be the accentuation of life.
Bogotá in the spring, life is a warm morning, occasionally chilled by the mountain breeze or sight of armed Policia and Military men. Posted on every street corner, they are safe guarding from the murderous and crime filled nights of the pervious decades.
The city is filled with art. Soldiers of former cartels are now artists and chefs, guitarist and painters. Here, life is worth protecting, for the night is still lurking in the jungles, just beyond the city borders.
In Bogotá, there is the morning and the children
; and the night, now forever filled with songs.
