28

a quaint white candle-light with a faint singing of a christmas song disrupted the silence and darkness of that night of the first of march in the poblacion. it was surely expected as when the hand struck past twelve in the midnight, he was to turn a year older. technically not at twelve midnight, but it was safe then to assume (generally) that the whole day should be his day, and it would definitely start after twelve midnight.


it was then and there clear already that whatever messages were to come to greet him that day would fly to limbo, as the place he chose to spend his weekend, with or without companions, was a signal-trap. he had to rely on good faith that people remembered him even to a minimum extent as to only think of it, or to a more sincere intent to accompany him, not necessarily to complete the three legends that cradled the poblacion, or simply to be there while he relished the minute significant details of the laid-back warmth of the communities that live there. raising a small glass of wine as an offering to the spirits of then and now with a prayer to join him in his humble celebration...

and as the days wore on --
stripping himself of all,
surrendering himself
to the deities --

the fog conspiring with
the sky to bring good rain;
with ridges and rocks
and river falls;

-- he finds his life
re-aligned,
once again,
re-born.

the warmest greetings on your 28th year. sincerest gratitude to those who were there in body and spirit.