Sol Y Sombra

This is a land of metronome duality. We’re cowed by sun, then huddle in the dark. Here shrubs and lizards eke, with bleak frugality, a living that’s both passionless and stark. But I’m from England. When parched cyclones rake white dust in sterile spirals, I delight in half-remembered rainclouds, and I ache to bathe again in subtle, muted light. She’s of this place. Her personality is elemental, primitive, opaque. At first, this strangeness, far from seeming trite, is what caused fierce attraction to ignite. But now I doubt her crude tonality transcends the cold hypnosis of the snake.