De tintes

If you are sunbathing in a park, for instance, but you do not know that a locked cabinet is buried fifty feet beneath your blanket, then you are in the dark even though you are not actually in the dark, whereas if you are on a midnight hike, knowing full well that several ballerinas are following close behind you, then you are not in the dark even if you are in fact in the dark. Of course, it is quite possible to be in the dark in the dark, as well as to be not in the dark not in the dark, but there are so many secrets in the world that it is likely that you are always in the dark about one thing or another, wherher you are in the dark in the dark or in the dark not in the dark, although the sun can go down so quickly that you may be in the dark about being in the dark in the dark, only to look around and find yourself no longer in the dark about being in the dark in the dark, but in the dark in the dark nonetheless, not only because of the dark, but because of the ballerinas in the dark, who are not in the dark about the dark, but also not in the dark about the locked cabinet, and you may be in the dark about the ballerinas digging up the locked cabinet in the dark, even though you are no longer in the dark about being in the dark, and so you are in fact in the dark about being in the dark, even though you are not in the dark about being in the dark, and so you may fall inte the hole that the ballerinas have dug, which is dark, in the dark, and in the park.

LEMONY SNICKET
The End
A Series Of Unfortunate Events (2006)

Empiezo a tener un poquito de miedo. Y no, no de que las ranas (o de que los zorros también quizás) empiecen a salir a la calle con paraguas. Porque imagínense, la familia de zorros al completo —mamá delante tratando de mantener bajo el paráguas a sus dos chicuelos traviesos mientras cierra la puerta de la madriguera— bajo uno de esos paraguas gigantes de colores chillones (de Ágata Ruiz de la Prada)

Pero no.
No es eso.
Y eso que no ha parado de llover desde el viernes.
Es como meter ropa de color en la lavadora y esperar que no destiña.
Todo este verde... tan verde.
Cinco minutos y ahora no llueve.
—Could you walk the dogs?

Pasear a los perros, me dicen. Bien. Cojo el chubasquero, las correas, sit, stop, came on, y corren. Deura no, se agarra a un palo y ya no lo suelta en todo el paseo. Primero un bosquecillo de robles y detrás el campo de maiz y más allá el de trigo. Está empezando a llover pero sólo un poco, lo suficiente para refrescar las ideas.

Veo a Tally saltar. Una mancha negra surgiendo a veces entre el trigo. Una, dos y tres veces. Y luego manchas marrones. Ciervos. ¿También llevarán paraguas? Ahora si que llueve y volvemos a casa.

Sigue lloviendo y yo he acabado A Series Of Unfortunate Events. Grándisimos libros.

Sigue lloviendo.
Creo que hasta yo me voy a teñir de verde.
Y sigue lloviendo.