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The world had been sad since Tuesday. Sea and sky were a single ash-gray thing and the sands of the beach, which on March nights glimmered like powdered light, had become a stew of mud and rottend shellfish. The light was so weak at noon that when Pelayo was coming back to the house after throwing away the crabs, it was hard for him to see what it was that was moving and groaning in the rear of the courtyard. He had to go very close to see that it was an old man, a very old man, lying face down in the mud, who, in spite of his tremendous efforts, couldn’t get up, impeded by his enourmous wings. (pg. 327)I totally agree with Derek on the fact of the author taking more time to describe the angel’s age and appearance than he is to actually describe the angel. It does seem to show that as people get older they tend to lose their sense of imagination. I also noticed that the author describes the dreariness of the day much more beautifully than he does the fact that there is an angel in this guy’s backyard. Marquez seems to be showing us that if we can take something so human and mundane such as a rainy day and turn it into something amazing and/or fantastical, then why is it so hard to believe that something that is supposed to be amazing and/or fantastical can look so human and mundane.