Tall flowering lapacho trees line Mariscal Lopez Avenue, at places touching one another, giving blue, purple, red, white and yellow veils to the city, for all who pass below their branches. The sensual colors of the flora, which dominates most yards, and many streets, swim back in front of my vision. Indeed I hoped I might have time to travel near Aregua, about an hours drive to the east, mainly to wander again in the montes, through the closed sub-tropical woods within the shadows and branches of the lapacos and cedros, within the branches of the hundreds of varieties of tall trees. I wanted to hear, as I once did, the song of the Parajo Campanas, or Bell Birds, as they call to each other growing syncopation, only crudely captured in the incredible streaming sounds of the Paraguayan harp. Paraguayan life is so close to nature.
Shadows seem to draw the blood from the sunset, pulling the clouds of darkness from the East.
Returning to houses, walkers are guided by rays of light from lanterns peeking through doorways and shutters on to their paths. A chorus carried across the town is returned. Chairs are brought to the street. The mothers sit and watch their daughters. Boys try to keep in the shadows, children playing tag.