Here are the rainy season days. Cool days, with sun from time to time, especially in the morning and sometimes the lazy, yellow afternoon sun. Cool winds through the mingled shadows of the trees. With the rain, all the trees are rejoicing, their secrets covered in green moss. The ruminating ways where when the marshes stretched across the valley rivers ran are working loose the concrete coverings. The grass nodding with a new senility. A puppy squints into the light, in the bakeries a brown abundance in the shafts from the windows, and the potatoes drying in the sun, like smooth, unusual clods of earth, beside them, onion greens spilling from sacks.