From my watchtower, the sunset seems a beautiful and at the same time confusing time. As the sun let us feel one last caress, behind the scenes the night gets ready to raise the curtain and reveal a stage of stars, where a night performance I cannot help but watch in awe will be repeated once again. I suppose it is the same for my neighbour, whose pyramid-shaped silhouette is clearly visible against the sunset sky. On days like today, it seems to be standing closer, even though we are more than a hundred kilometres apart, sixty-five of them across the deep Atlantic Ocean.

The night has already spread its mantle. All around me sleeps. I keep a petrified vigil. Life begins to wake up around me with the first rays of the new day. Swifts, kestrels, grey wagtails and African blue tits take flight. The brightness allows us to contemplate how the flowers of the malfuradas, an endemic species in the St. John’s wort family, mimic the sunrise. Shortly afterwards, as happens every day, some curious beings arrive at my feet and stare at me. They call my distant companion on this particular Mount Olympus above the clouds and the ocean, Teide. And, in case you were wondering, I, the sentinel that whispers to them, am called Roque Nublo.