Sunday, February 15, 2009

Sentinels of Puno

He stood there perched on his mound of rubble, discarded building materials and alluvial tailings from inadequate drainage uphill. City lights scintillating as if reflected in the lake below, a perfect reflection of the sky if it hadn´t been drowned out by the pollution of its perceived twin below. He paced there on that mound of tailings below a particularly steep and unpaved entrance to an outlying neighborhood, close but not too close to the riotous activity below, waiting for the arrival of something to signal the end of his post, or at least that is the perception of importance given by his restless pacing.

A car approaches, headlights obscuring the drama of the city below, exhaust overpowering neighborhood scents, and engine muting the whines from above. He relieves his post as if he had been there to greet the two wayward passengers looking for bed to pass the night, beds scarce because of the din of activity anticitating tomorrows activity. He wags his tail and slips from his mound, as if his purpose had been rendered.

He really just wanted to get a good whiff of the lady barking of the roof above.

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