Jacaranda

Just the typical day in Montevideo. A truck outside is blasting Beethoven. It’s transporting fuel to distribute to the neighborhoods. Fuel on wheels. I’ve only seen it occur here. Things seem so different here but it’s only because I haven’t disrobed the mystery yet.

A little stroll along La Rambla. Every time I encounter someone new. People are pleasant here and people are pleasant there. They see in me the same mystery I see in them. It brings us together.

It sometimes gets lonely when you aren’t in the land of your tongue.  But I’m charmed by this loneliness because I know it will bring a verdant future much like spring after an arduous winter.  I adore the dead purple blossoms resting on the brick sidewalks dropped by the Jacaranda tree. You should see the Ceibo and her blossoms. Just one. I have to take just one flowers life. Slip it in my ear to feel her red fingers touch my cheek. It is just what I feel like doing. To be a part of the mystery

How many sentences are uttered in a conversation over wine? Cabernet sauvignon from the vineyards of Uruguay along with the mystery of a language not yet fully known. Red teeth, red tongue. Shame comes from the fact that I have a piece of paper that says I should understand it. Hand gestures and the little vocabulary we know uncover the thoughts we are trying to express. To speak. Hablar. It’s much harder than you think. But the red wine eases my tongue and allows me to roll r’s without shame. In the land of the trees and mist I haven’t listened well. I haven’t been so zen in the desert either. Escucha. I’ve realized that while being in Villa Dolores. How ironic. Dolores is a very common name. It’s a very common feeling as well. Pain. Dolor. The realization that I’m not as good as listener as I thought brings this one on. An old lover that I hardly know anymore told me this recently. It hurts to get slapped in the face with that one. I am listening now. Trying to understand every word from the mysterious tongue of Spanish. It’s so beautiful. So elusive. I thought I was elusive. Try learning a language you don’t know. It’s a good thing I’m in love with mystery otherwise I’d probably turn my back on her. I want to grasp her and understand every word that comes from her mouth. In time. Patience. Like I’ve expressed I don’t understand a lot of what people to say to me. Through hand gestures, miscommunication and laughter we paddle through the ponds of languages we both don’t know. I understand her eyes though. They speak to me. They tell me it’s safe to swim around in her language. At least I can float. That’s a start.