Some trees shout out loud. The ceiba in the garden of my apartment block made a ruckus of the highest order. And it wasn’t the only thing that shouted. The guacharacas cried out from six in the morning, hidden among its branches, which were so dense with leaves and fluffy seed pods that the birds were invisible. Its shade was the perfect spot for a leisurely breakfast, or to while away the time; we kept each other company.
Read the rest of this short story by Federica Consalvi at Lit. 202 | A literary journal (lit202.org)