Fro-yo after Fi-lo

Here in Spain, it is always sunny. 

So sunny that my friend from Madrid doesn't own an umbrella and doesn't really know how to work one.

So sunny that my philosophy professor comes into the classroom wearing sunglasses and complaining that he wouldn't mind a more subtle, a more gentle cloudy day every once in a while.

So sunny that I feel an accute dissonance when listening to Christmas songs that summon down the snow.

So sunny that here in Spain, on days where I choose to sleep with my heavy shutters open, I am woken abruptly by the sunrise. 

After nights where I have a good long chat with a friend and laugh a little with my host family over dinner and finish reading the poetry of Fray Luis and say my Night Prayer and fall asleep early

The sun rises

After nights where I try my hardest to do my homework, but simply can't get anything done becuase I only wish I were somewhere else, with someone else

The sun rises

After nights where I can't really tell you what happened because I don't really remember, and all I know is that I feel guilty and wish the night had gone differently

The sun rises

Here in Spain, it is always, always sunny, and no one deserves it.

And that is the Sacred.