Postcard: Flight of the Zanates

Flight of the zanates

Rose drains from the evening. Dull leaden clouds close off the night. Moon hovers over the cathedral, vultures resting on spires, black mourning cloaks covering the cross.

Flight of zanates at dusk. Black wings swirling in twilight. Almost quiet before they roost in treetops. One whistles as lights of the night wake up.

A young man, red shirt, black shorts, sits on the bench oblivious, focused on a small screen in his hand. He looks up as a family strolls by. On the other side of the street an orange eye blinks from a grey car; the sky fades out.

Traffic speeds or slows to a Tico beat or stops. Everything slows in a country that defines slow in so many ways, more ways than Eskimos define snow.

Then bells ring as a waft of weed passes by. But there's always more ... even if there's no more room on this page.

© Kåre Enga

Pérez Zeledón, 11.diciembre.2013