Against the Eden green and the densities of the avocados, high and impenetrable as planets, against a blue like Cádiz, in the uninflected coast light and the light violet haze of their fellow June recruits, jacaranda blooms lit on falling branches of air. One or two a minute, as if they were receiving diplomas. Because the prevailing westerlies were quiet (it was no day for sailing), the blossoms fell as obediently as shadows or rain and formed a purple picture of the tree on the lawn. Bees with the coloring of tigers seen through train windows pawed the soft Victorian bells. I lay on the grass and the grass carried me, as if my body were Cleopatra’s.