Sitting with the Sun
Grateful for braving the dust and traffic to reach the rooftop bar that had looked packed online with dancing, jiving, shiny people, for a maracuyá chilcano — perhaps a touch too sweet with passion fruit juice, but with a kick that made it delicious — and looked out at Chachani, El Misti, Pichu Pichu, and the setting sun all at once.
Wondering why I’d never watched the sun peeping through mountain peaks, like in childhood pictures of a little house on a hill with smoke curling from the chimney.
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Sitting with the sunset requires a certain mindset: telling yourself you have arrived, that there is nowhere else to go until the sun disappears beyond the horizon.
Telling yourself it is no longer necessary to chase the next thing or finish the next chore.
The sun lights everything in its best possible light. It does not need to be seen; its light is ubiquitous. What it does to its surroundings is spectacular.
Seeing a boy try to trip his sister in a store, I noticed empanadas lined up in a glass case. I stepped in, chose my filling, and enjoyed the savory bites, oblivious to the dust swirling beneath the streetlights.
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