My neighbor, Juaquin, calls them Papallomollo, the flying creatures that dropped their wings at my door last night and began their terrestrial existence.
The crabs, I don’t know their name nor where they have been all of dry season, but today I saw them on the road at the top of Pacific Marlin by Cristo. And later along the scree where the hillside turns into the beach.
And the brilliance of the air and sea! As if rain drops could settle the dust down to the bottom of the sea.
And Nella. She finally, after months, left the shady bush and sought out a spot in the sun.