It is once again the Carneval season which is upon us: good times, political satire, using up in reckless abundance what the winter has left and then fasting, to renew for the next warmer seasons. It is a mentality of joy and excess and to some a season of melancholy to be chased.
Come my cantilations,
Let us dump our hatreds into one bunch and be done with them,
Hot sun, clear water, fresh wind,
Let me be free of pavements,
Let me be free of the printers.
Let come beautiful people
Wearing raw silk of good colour,
Let come the graceful speakers,
Let come the ready of wit,
Let come the gay of manner, the insolent and the exulting.
We speak of burnished lakes,
And of dry air, as clear as metal.