Obligation To My Sweater

(Click to enlarge).

This morning before I could go outside to drink Chiapas coffee and read The White by Deborah Larsen, I had to put on a sweater. The temperature dropped to sixty last night. Birds sang as the lemon rays of the sun poked through the treetops into the dark corners of the property. Tendrils of steam lifted up from the rain-sodden ground.

I only heard one thunder clap last night, but it shook the house. The flash of lightning that preceded it revealed the ground outside covered with a plane of water and waterfalls cascading from the trees.

Yesterday, I walked through downtown Guanajuato with a four and a half meter pole. It was long enough to knock down five innocent Christians, if I had pulled a Gilligan and turned around with it in my hand.