Such peace under the walnut tree. Tonight the pupazza will spin around the village square, and let off fireworks from her arms, her back, her legs. And as I watch the lizard disappear into the shadow, just where I'd last seen it turn, I think of you and whether you might be giving birth yet, or have already given birth. From here you can see the mountains. Small clouds inch past, drops of water on car windows. When I was little at the back of the car I thought I could hear angels but it was my mum singing at the bottom of her voice.