dense fog and clouds squat flowed like the stuff from floor to ceiling and there soon in obscure tracks down again. The door was firmly closed, but always wandered through the intricacies of movement of the curtains, while the thick Mama Morgana rubbed his hands together like others in anticipation. The wooden beads crunched dark and heavy between the closed fingers, rolled it against each other like a sea disoriented eye balls. Her eyes were closed, from the heel to the first knuckles she felt the waves in smooth wood and was looking for patterns in the gaps. A chuckle flipped around in the sides of the room and on the walls like the painted plaster, but did not reach their ears. The greasy lips wrinkles pulled up to the ears of the barred face.
Eshu could not come too late, because Mama Morgana already knew where he would be when, and where he would get lost or dawdle. She licked the lip and could smell the musty haze, as Eshu highly suggested a tanned skin to look for the curious painted Flouriszenz sleeping in the darkness of adolescents hiss the folds. Dancing in the streets at night the only light the city, next to the torches, and the drums, and the glaring rebellion of the lower town, down, down, the lie of a light at the end of the tunnel.
It is a gift the sleeping dancers, exhausted in the dying mescaline in the darkness of the piles had sunk to see by day, but she would scold Eshu anyway, because he late.
Even if Mama knew Morgana, when he slept before he even woke up, took every art discipline. Every power limitations. Each chorea its pattern and if it was like the dappled fur of the coyote, verfloht and cunning.
damned child's head believes that the sun never goes down here, there are only the painted on skin images of dancers in the streets, what remains to us at night.
Mama Morgan dropped the pearls like rain on the bare bones lined up and rest the extended hands on the pulse of the city. The palms in of air collected, the cock crowed, the fingers slipped out and asked about all sorts of being. Quietly the lips spoke no language in the world and tasted it gently in passing channels, the corners and edges of buildings and roads. The bamboo, wood and bone, and the joints. The city grew and stood still at the spot where had become at some time of sky and earth, blood and bones and the ghosts began to run.
Large powerful voodoo. Smile of the Loa.
running. Mama Morgana bared his spotless white teeth and full-bodied red gums. What a protracted nature of the movement.
your fingers did not want to digress right and picked over again searching for Eshu. A cup of coffee with milk in human form and street clothes. Insatiable, so insatiable, and soon arrived at her door.
She rose from the ground - the bone-crunching unspeakable silent - and safe step foot off the path by the tracks of the substance. She performed no pearl, wandered around a few grooves in the floor of the contracts, while the colors by applying to and slid next to her.
The Fire crackled in the back room of Mama Morgana's hut and went out never, on the day, even at night or the times in between. Any child from the neighborhood did keep going and going in their back room, no matter how old she was and whether was a child. Some of them had themselves been trained in the ways others have found it to her and if they were concerned no longer be able to fire stoking, they had a little brother or a younger sister who took care of the matter. There was no duty to keep the fire burning, nor right, but old ritual. Sometimes Mama Morgana came from older than themselves, perhaps because they do eventually started there had, where they had placed the black mother Brigitte for the first time as a little girl fire in the furnace. A small twigs branch brought in from the streets as the fire was about to vanish.
Eshu, mother Morgana knew, would you rather try to steal the fire than to feed the flames, but it would be very soon here. Time for coffee.
The roughly in the form of dented kettle gurgled tinny, as they drew water and hung it over the fireplace. Like countless other women, young and old, this morning the city, they sat down, to shake beans in the coffee mill and soon filled the rhythmic grind of their hands, the back room. It mingled with the nameless scent of water vapor and covered the small kitchen like a heavy black veil.
Only Mama Morgana's cooking at this hour of the morning was a black curtain slept in the living air allowed if the water on the heat and the mill to the powder and it was waiting for coffee. A cursory sin of the Loa and Ghede looks for happiness away always with one eye, but by the vapors, and grinding could Mama Morgana the substances in the Hut flutter and hear the gurgle Hahn uncertain. Ghede looks away. Ghede looks away.
When the water has already trickled down through a fine Stoffsieb into a pitcher, even Eshus steps trickled from the plains and alleys to their front door. They mixed decided by the early reality and Mama Morgana their protege still waiting on his first complaint to be until the first cup of coffee was ready. flowed
As the black water in a painted cup, took a wooden bead, the grooves between the bones to the back room and jumped on. She came to a halt kullernd on the straw mats Mama smiled and Morgana, while they picked up in passing.
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