Colado and pastelitos

Flowers are still in bloom. Flaxen sunlight ignores the season and persist in heating the soft earth. We have  been spared the few hurricanes coming off Cape Verde and with the end of the season the breeze is a collective sigh of relief.  It is still green here, a lush paradise of birds and wetlands. Bright splashes of red and pink hibiscus pop and wild parrots still linger among the palm fingers. Our dawn is a swathe of melon, a prelude to crimson sunsets. Grand limbs of poinsetta trees  drop a tapestry of red ground cover.

I have joined my neighbor for colado and pastelitos in his secluded courtyard. The coffee is thick and sweet served in a small cup. The pastry oozes guava jam and cream cheese from its flaky layers. We are quiet except for occasional small talk, we are past the need for banter. He suddenly turns serious and tells me he is concerned and frustrated over the influx of central americans crossing the borders. It is too early for politics and I shrug and softly remind him of his own flight from Havana, risking his life across the Florida straits via smugglers. I remind him of the efforts he made to get from there to here. That is different he says, he had relatives, sponsors. I stroll to the red clay pots lining his deck, the scent of peppers and basil in black earth sting my nostrils. I wonder if he even recalls the poverty and oppression he fled to nest in this pink paradise.

Eventually he realizes I am uninterested in his grumbling and more in the mood for  non-sexual fun. Grabbing our caps we race barefoot to the water, our feet sinking in the  unseasonably warm sand.


72 thoughts on “Colado and pastelitos

  1. Wow! This piece is like a collage. Different pieces coming together to form a beautiful whole. “Our dawn is a swathe of melon, a prelude to crimson sunsets. Grand limbs of poinsetta trees drop a tapestry of red ground cover.” Very good imagery.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Nice to read about the sunshine day at yours, Holly, with still persisting seasonal colour and your satirical swipe at neighbourly attitudes on hapless migrants, akin to mindsets of people on the suburban railway platform in peak hour, jostling to board the train and, once safely inside, not wanting others to get in…LOL… Enjoy another colada for me…xxxbest wishes.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Hmmm…. How easily we forget where we came from. Or how we came. Not just your friend, but many of us. I’ve been writing a post about the reaction to refugees in our own country. It’s making me think about amnesia. It’s as if so many of us forget how we came.

    Liked by 1 person

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