When the night sky in Oaxaca looks like this, all blue and heavy, the meaning, in your language, whichever language you speak, is that it will sprinkle some, flash a little, and then the thunder will deliver larger drops.
You will walk faster, knowing you have to make a decision about where to go for the wait. You will arrive at a coffee shop, under the welcoming entryway of a church, or you might huddle beneath an awning with people who insist you need a scarf or a necklace, a spoon or a bookmark, a hammock or a ceramic sun.
And, you think, a little sun would be nice.
shewhodaresnothing 