An ofrenda is built in layers, and each element earns its place. The structure rises in tiers, often two or three, dressed in cloth or bright paper and arched with cempasuchil marigolds, the flower of the dead whose color and scent are said to guide the returning souls; petals may be strewn in a path from the door. Papel picado, cut tissue banners, tremble at any movement of air. Candles are set for the souls awaited; a glass of water refreshes them after the journey; salt purifies. Photographs of the dead preside, and around them accumulate the things they loved: particular dishes, fruit, cigarettes, a bottle, toys for children who died, whose souls are welcomed first at the start of November. Pan de muerto, the round loaf ridged with bone shapes, is baked for the season, and sugar skulls take the names of the living and the dead with equal cheer.
Copal incense, burned in Mesoamerica for millennia, is common, and its smoke beside Catholic saints' images captures the altar's layered ancestry. The ofrenda is domestic, but it scales: schools, museums and city plazas across Mexico and the Mexican diaspora build public altars, and municipal competitions reward the most elaborate. The gathered dead are hosted through the nights of 1 and 2 November, and the offerings are shared among the living afterward, since the visitors take only the essence.