Often a thing must be loved before it is lovable

I know the chalarposting is getting out of hand, but yesterday hearing a friend talk about the Appalachia, I remembered that the Northern Hemisphere October is the Southern Hemisphere April, which immediately led to one of the most iconic Autumn songs of Uruguayan folk (and Uruguayan music in general): Minas y Abril. So some of you at least might enjoy it for the atmosphere, who knows!

Minas and April

I am fruit of the hills; My crib was of stone, And my grave will doubtless be as well Some sunny corner of the hill range.

I was born and raised like the Tillandisia Holding on between the slate grey stones of my home land Of that brave and taciturn Lavalleja.

Minuano, wherever you go Never tire of saying That if God descends to Earth By the altar of the hill range He comes to Minas in April.

Black earth for tiling, Orange clouds of April. The green light of the willow grove, Indigo in the little creeks.

On the streets, old gold; The hills, slate and grey. If you like colors, Look at the prism of those flowers, When April makes them blossom.

Never the air as clean, A sunset of gardenias. To see the waxing Moon, With the waters of the Penitente, Fill its cup in April.

I dozed off to the song of cicadas, I flied with the earwigs, And I clipped off the night of my home land For remembrance, it's best star.

I climbed up and down the hard spines Of our gullies, And between the half lights of the afternoon I cut of horizons my shadow.

Never as clean the air, Never as clear the lines, And that shivering of horizons, And yellow of the woods, When matured by April.

Of betrothing her in Autumn, You won't have any regrets. The Arequita made her a bride, Minas forever beautiful, But even more beautiful in April!