Five years later, the ranch was more alive than ever.
I sat on the cabin porch with a cup of coffee in my hand, watching the scene below like someone watching the best movie of their life. The morning sun bathed the garden in golden tones, and the smell of flowers and wet earth filled the air.
And there they were.
Rosa and Luna ran across the lawn, their tiny cowboy boots kicking up small dust clouds, their flowery dresses flying behind them like flags of freedom. Rosa, the oldest, pulled her sister by the hand, her blonde hair—just like their mother's—flying back. Luna, more observant, stopped every now and then to point at something—a butterfly, a flower, a cloud with a funny shape.
"CATCH US, GRANDMA!" Rosa shouted, laughing.
There came Rosa, our grandmother, with her now completel
