Abuela canta cuentos, cuenta canciones. Sus dedos son como ramas que bailan y tejen los personajes de sus historias, que se quedan trenzados en la colcha. Ya casi no caben más cuentos en la colcha... --Un, dos, tres --murmura Abuela, contando mientras teje--. Un, dos tres, mi niña, mi amor, mi palomita. Un, dos, tres, Pequeña, Madre, Abuela. Un, dos, tres, nosotras tres, mi vida. Un, dos, tres, las tres que somos todas. Un cuento que es un homenaje de dos nietas a su abuela, un canto a la transmisión generacional y al legado de las mujeres, que mantiene viva la sabiduría popular.
Grandma sings stories, tells songs. Her fingers are like dancing branches, weaving the characters of her tales, which become intertwined in the quilt. There's hardly any room left for more stories on the quilt... "One, two, three," Grandma murmurs, counting as she weaves. "One, two, three, my child, my love, my little dove. One, two, three, Little One, Mother, Grandma. One, two, three, the three of us, my life. One, two, three, the three of us who are all of us." A story that is a tribute from two granddaughters to their grandmother, a song to generational transmission and the legacy of women, who keep folk wisdom alive.