days of heaven

300km toward the center of the provincia de Buenos Aires, the climate is a bit harsher. The middle of summer brings hotter days than the Capital, light snow is not unusual in pleno invierno, the rains of all four seasons lure the conditions of any unpaved road as far into impassibility as their wet siren song can muster. Then, as well, there are other days...

There are days especially in spring where all the sweet liquors of the Argentine climate combine and settle into an exquisite cocktail. A master curry of innumerable mild spices. A cuvée of the best vintages of living and past memories. A thousand novenas of answered prayers spread to anoint every green blade and soft wind.

If indeed the essence of days such as these could be distilled into a self-administered potion it would no doubt be declared illegal and denied to the poor. As it is, every human and animal is free of pain and care. A strong sun slowly and gently warms to the very bones. Shade is startlingly refreshing in its contrast. Nothing more than occasional gentle breezes stir the air. If cows and birds and even plants can experience joy then it is on days such as these that they undoubtedly do.

One actually wonders if a thousand hectares of some narcotic plant is in bloom nearby. Opium eaters among us will recognize a chain of effects beginning with an unsettling feeling. The stomach wonders if it should begin to churn. The inner ear apparently uses the pain of living and the cares and woes of existence to help maintain balance for in their absence one's moorings feel as though they are slipping. The eyes register a slight intensity added to every color. The mind retracts into what feels to be its natural shape, no longer stretched to cover and bind together every ambition.

An acceptance of joy and mercy and something approaching pure love then spreads not so much through one's veins but up from the soles of the boots, through the hair under the warming cap, with the sweat disappearing from under the shirt at every air's caress. The legs seem to search with a will of their own for someplace tall, green and leafy near the ground.

The afternoon's pause in the day's toil will come early on days such as these. Work will resume a little later than normal. Wine will taste deeper, bread more recognizable as the miracle it represents. A nap will bring with it something more than mere sleep. Any possible description will have to wait for tomorrow.