Two striking things happened in Barcelona last week: it rained, and then it got cold. We’re talking hats, scarves, gloves, and boots. So it’s kind of ironic that I wrote this poem last week, inspired by a house I passed on my walk home from work.
Bougainvillea on a whitewashed wall
Bougainvillea on a whitewashed wall, hibiscus in November. It doesn't really look like fall, at least not like I remember.
Where I come from, it used to rain, cold wind would rake the sky. One day you'd take a look outside, and trees had turned to fire.
Such beauty there, such beauty here, I try to love it all. Eternal summer has its charm, but I really miss the fall.