The Rider’s Prayer

Where All The Afternoons Are Of Triumph And Glory The day I went to my first jaripeo was clear, a rarity in the Sierra: so clear that the 3,390-foot sacred mountain Zempoaltepetl was imposing and triumphant; the blue tips of distant mountains stretched on and on in long chains; and the Mixe valley could be traced in all its undulations to a faraway horizon.