Stealthy little flowers, drinking the instant of gloom. With bouncing eyebrows, with its windows open expelling the now. Throwing out a taciturn and blinding burst of light. They tell you what is hidden, they tell you hope, they tell you their steps from their faces. They paint the contrast against the lament of the old, of the eternal that screams the crack in the wall. They emerge carrying the miracle of life, breaking through the hardness of the stone. They accompany the rays of the sun that pass through with their delicate and cutting bow. They are the small lights of the Sahara, which swallow time to be light...