Happy, the Achiote, and the Pink Lagoon

On the third of March, Corina Leonor set out to walk the territory with wide-open eyes and Happy trotting ahead, as she always does whenever there's a trail to follow. The little coastal dog knows these paths almost better than anyone, and that morning she let herself be photographed amid a carpet of pink flowers — buganvilias fallen across the green earth — tongue out, wearing the expression of someone with nowhere particular to be. Along the way, the achiote also made its appearance: split-open fruits with their seeds burning red, that particular red that stains and lingers and calls to mind the kitchens of grandmothers. Further on, at the lagoon, a tree — possibly a Tabebuia — had shed its petals across the water and along the bank, and everything lay still and rosy beneath the blue afternoon sky. Two bovines, a white cow and her calf, grazed unhurriedly on the dirt path with the forest closing in behind them. It was one of those days when the sanctuary reveals everything at once: native flora, domestic fauna, the familiar murmur of rural life. Happy came back happy, as she always does.