The celestial bodies enunciate something in the midst of their mystery. The moon turns red, the planet cries, the fall is deeper than we could imagine. Hidden, something lurks. In the middle, a requiem or perhaps an elegy. The uncertain as a path that leads us to a catastrophe that we do not know is past, present or future. But which is undoubtedly a deep memory of a dark secret. The broken whispers of a wounded jungle.