El Salvador. Entry Three.

Last night was my favorite since I’ve been here. I loved it for the warmth of simplicity.

At about 5:00pm the clouds illusioned a storm onto every persons part of the brain that produces fear. 

As soon as the familiar wind broke through the radio’s office door, sending an eager bundle of baby dust tornados to dance around my ankles, I decided it was time to head home. 



Walking back the streets were empty, except for the occasional child who ran outside to look at the dark gray mass coming from every direction, heading for the collision course of washing away the one white splotch that lay in the middle of the sky. 


When I arrived at my house I shut the window to my room, locked it, and began writing in my journal. 
Five minutes later the power went out. 


I was going to try to write, one hand on the flashlight, but instead I saw the flickering of firelight and followed it through to the other side of the house where the family all sat talking by candlelight.

I sat here with them talking. 
A few moments later my twelve year old hermanito Walter began playing with the candle wax.

First he smashed little spiders that would crawl by, or the cicadas. The carapachas. He then would roast them over the flame and cover them in wax. 

I was half put-off and half charmed. 
He seemed to be doing it with the most caring technique, almost as if he hadn’t been the one who had just ended the insect’s life, but instead was only trying to send it off the proper way-ceremoniously-into another world. At some point I reached into the wax and made a cross to rest beside the graveyard Walter had now founded. 
My little sister, Patti, who is five, giggled and somehow the evening spiraled into wax balls, wax statues, wax people, wax houses. Here, by the light of few flames, the three of us sat entertaining ourselves as the rest of the family watched from their hammocks giving us ideas for what to invent next--all the while telling stories, and legends. 
So peaceful.