11 March 2008. Blurry birds of the morning, white sky, sun from the east. Inti, the Arauacan, cuerdó, Quilmes, Leubucó. Words in the middle of the night, debajo de las cubiertas. I offer them myself: to bless, for example--or to hide. Escondido, tucked away, blanket pulled high into a kind of tent--to shelter the light. Saturdays in Oceanside--very early. Something on the radio, Big John, Sparky. Lo chispeante. Chusma, potro, chiripá. Meanderings back and forth, always the anticipation--possibility of beginnings. A habit of sorts, an eagerness for the unknown...less danger, though, than delight. Glee. Or maybe simply deseo.
A welcoming...
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