Abel Armando Silva

Rosa has been a craftswoman for as long as she can remember. On the wall of her workshop hangs a keepsake portrait of her father, Abel. In her heart, countless others. Outside, the church bells ring, calling Rosa to mass. She carries with her the filigree rosary that belonged to her mother, letting the Viana beads slip through her fingers, following the rhythm of the prayer. And of the heart.