The Lacuna

“In the afternoon when the sun lights the stucco buildings across the street, it’s possible to count a dozen different colours of paint, all fading together on the highest parts of the wall: yellow, ochre, brick, blood, cobalt, turquoise. The national colour of Mexico. And the scent of Mexico is a similar blend: jasmine, dog piss, cilantro, lime. Mexico admits you through an arched stone orifice into the tree-filled courtyard of it’s heart, where a dog pisses against a wall and a waiter hustles through a curtain of jasmine to bring a bowl of hot tortilla soup, steaming with cilantro and lime. Cats stalk lizards among the clay pots around the fountain, doves settle into the flowering vines and coo their prayers, thankful for the existence of lizards. The potted plants silently exhale, outgroring their clay pots. Like Mexico’s children they stand pinched and patient in last year’s shoes. The pebble thrown into the canyon bumps and tumbles downhill”

– Thoroughly and guiltily enjoying Barbara Kingsolver’s The Lacuna at the moment…

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