Unseasonably cool

Yes, I know the last post about the Ink hotness contest pushed the limits of snarkiness, but now I see it was inevitable. As my friend at the Compendium Tremendium Institute asked me earlier, "How much time passes between the publication of an alternative weekly's ridiculous pander and emergence of a disproportionate backlash in the blogosphere?" Apparently anywhere from 2 to 36 hours, judging by my stopwatch.

Teresa said to me tonight that I must be busy because I hadn't been blogging. That is a post all unto itself. Tonight I'd rather share an early poem from an Argentian whose prose I find difficult but nonetheless greatly enjoy. I usually provide my own photos, but if anyone wants to send me one that this piece reminds them of, I'd be happy to post it along with the Spanish version. I'm going to Mexico soon, though, so it might be a while.

Patio

With evening
the two or three colors of the patio grew weary.
The huge candor of the full moon
no longer enchants its usual firmament.
Patio: heaven's watercourse.
The patio is the slope
down which the sky flows into the house.
Serenely
eternity waits at the crossway of the stars.
It is lovely to live in the dark friendliness
of covered entrance way, arbor, and wellhead

by Jorge Luis Borges
trans. Robert Fitzgerald