I came to Santa Ana to make a project about the women who live there, to make a route with them. Some stpes in the countryside together.

I didn’t speak their language and they didn’t speak mine, and I didn’t know this area where they were living, this land.
It was similar to the place where I was born.
The same trees, the same climate, more or less. However, in Santa Ana, the orange trees seemed to have no questions, their identity was clear.
The days seemed simple there.
When I came and looked around,
I saw black trees.
There was fire some years ago,
the only time it happened here, I was told.
The trunks of the trees were black,
but upstairs, the treetops were starting to recover.
From the whole green mountains, those black trees kept calling me, and I kept visiting them, feeling they have some secret to hide, which I wanted to know.
Little by little, as I was meeting this women of Santa Ana, they recalled me something important, from their life., They recalled me the importance of love.
Maybe this is also the secret inside the black trunks, but they were telling me, with their smiles, that sometimes what we are looking for is just outside, not hiding.