18 December 2007. Dull pings of rain on window at night. Cold wind off bay, clouds and fog. Waking to scatter of golden-red leaves on dark asphalt, touch of sun. Rolling amber light on curved back of moored WM refuse truck--an efficient nondescript yellow and green--color in the service of utility. "He made the trains run on time." And who'd want to be kept constantly waiting? Like a spurned lover, or aging golf-coach with fewer and fewer attendees?
Wide run of the Pampas. The Río Cuarto, somewhere below Córdoba. The gaucho: facón y boleadores--un chaleco con botones de plata. Rosas, Quiroga, Sarmiento. Bartolomé Mitre. A nation's names. But also--los caciques--Mariano, Ramón, Baigorrita...
Aquí me pongo a cantar
Al compás de la vigüela;
Que el hombre que lo desvela
Una pena extraordinaria,
Como la ave solitaria
Con el cantar se consuela.
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