Entonces.
La lluvia pasó, but fat clouds hung in the sky today, pedaled about by a brisk wind that hummed beneath my skin. Un susurro invisible, con manos de seda, with the slow promise of hunger ahead. In the park, there is one sapling cottonwood, planted far out of the riparian belt by some wellmeaning idiota. It is budding. Qué milagros hay en este vida.
La lluvia pasó, but fat clouds hung in the sky today, pedaled about by a brisk wind that hummed beneath my skin. Un susurro invisible, con manos de seda, with the slow promise of hunger ahead. In the park, there is one sapling cottonwood, planted far out of the riparian belt by some wellmeaning idiota. It is budding. Qué milagros hay en este vida.
Hay un alamo cerca de mi casa que se perforado completamente por los peckerwoods, probablemente Picoides nuttallii. Sabes, por su puesto, que ese especie de pájaros es una hermana a los ladderbacks, que vivan en los árboles de Joshua.
En las madrugadas, camino por el alamo con el perro viejo. Yo veo los agujeros, y deseo que esté en el fucking desert.
Posted by
Chris Clarke |
1/3/06 23:27
Heh. Peckerwoods.
Madrugadas is one of the words that I like better in Spanish, though only for the dawns that you can almost hear craking open, like when the sun rises over the redrocks and the whole world turns to gold and blood.
Posted by
Kat |
2/3/06 09:36
Yay, escribiste un post en Spanglish! This bodes ill for my readers, who now might have to put up with me haciendo lo mismo. After 10 years in puro gringolandia, though, my espanol ain't what it used to be.
And estoy de acuerdo sobre madrugada. I also love anochecer.
Posted by
Janeen |
2/3/06 10:42