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Guanacaste A pastel fragment of blue wall under the slope of corrugated roofing, each side of the house open to the humid weather and sun, vine stalks twisting around supporting beams in a marriage of living tendrils and hewn timbers. There are no animals in this green field, no children, and the wires from the poles have not been led across the knee-high grasses to this empty place where the ground begins its rise through rainforest toward the gray volcano. Finally here, the sense, as you had told me, a private view within the dreaming mirage of your land.
Donald Wellman | Mudlark No. 34 |