Casa del Campo

The wind rushes through the aluminum roof and candles flicker. I step outside to the pila to wash dishes and catch a glimpse of the sun descending behind the trees.

My counter top is a rustic, handmade table from the market. I awake to the crow of a rooster in my front yard and buy mangos from a street vender on my dusty walk home.
Although seeds blow in and litter my kitchen table, uninvited guests with too many legs creep in, and the electricity comes and goes like the water,

I am growing to love my casa del campo.