Colombia postcard

Saturday swirl darkening evening sat just to watch, frosting color blinking lights in barely chilly, more people sound motion than might have been imagined by the plaza architects. The whole town here. Couples in nice clothing hands held, sometimes kisses. Impossibly small boys kicking a ball toward imaginary goals, several move a clumsy version of a dribble shoulder step kick that suggests that they’ve seen plenty played futbol and maybe older brothers or a father or a tomboy sister to patiently drill, someday so fluid. Others on bicycles, others tugging on trees or iron fixtures just to pull, others running without trammeling on the screeches and giggles. Teens segregated furtively aware of one another, pram leaning mothers texting, father stands over two toddlers with red green and gold ponchos fixing their pointy tasseled hats.  Older folks moving their feet in truncated steps and taking breaks, but luminescent in their presence. Booted police with assault rifles grinning causally making conversation with fauxhawked twentysomething guys holding cans of Club Colombia Red. Hamburgers sausage cooking at nearby food stands, fried dough, popsicles, roasted corn on the cob.  Young priest is a comet glint into the fray, all eyes land there then many gather, chins up to the scepter then back to the robes then back to voice in prayer and song.

A stray puppy curls in the dirt next to us, eyes braced closed figuring confident ours would remain open, eyebrows quiver at the fireworks above the bell tower.

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