It all happened in the backyard, sitting on a step and thinking how could I make my grass greener. It was at that day when I stood still like the end of life as I predicted it, with a can of paint in one hand, a brush in the other. I was ready to change it all forever when the sun leaned over the clouds to look at this curious event, and all the dry brown from the grass became a painting. It was perfect. It was perfect. That day was the one I realized I couldn't follow a color trend like that. What matters is just how that light reaches the eyes.

And the light always reaches the eyes.

And the rain always come.