November leaves a halo of sadness on the lands of the Duero, the diffused light of the fog and the scent of the streets of roasted chestnuts, which are a blessing when the harsh winter of the plateau arrives. But this month of November is moving forward warmly; We want to pull back the blanket – even the warmest Zamora blanket – to leave those who wear the emperor’s costume naked, even though many of us see it in detail. This month of November has the aroma of freshly prepared popcorn, the smell of childhood cinema and the theatrical release of Little Nightingale, which is not a cover of Joselito, this boy singer who made our parents vibrate with his voice in his touching serials A Little. Rossignol who came to sing with pen and stenographer which has already been the subject of an investigation by the UCO. A soundtrack which, if we lived in a normal country, would have already brought down the entire government, mired up to its knees in mud. This mud that does not stop, which is not the same mud that still covers the basements and basements of the Spanish Levante, where Minister Robles had the lack of shame, empathy and humanity to raise their voices to those who have lost everything, to the victims’ loved ones, neighbors and people affected by DANA who have suffered a clear omission of assistance from their ministry, among many other omissions attributable to this (bad) government. This is not to say that Mazón is another unpresentable person who failed to live up to those who gave him his powers. But this country, already accustomed to a first every day, sits quietly in its chair to eat popcorn and watch it go by. . life as if it were an argument foreign to life itself. We have assimilated so much corruption, golferío, prevarication, theft, illegality, that there is nothing that moves us, motivates us to take to the streets; nothing that makes us raise our voices and point out the fact that the emperor walks around naked with his flip flops, his devotees and his media praising the wonders of his non-existent costume, this troop, increasingly reduced, which defends the indefensible, which encompasses. in the Fachosfera to anyone who does not pay homage to the “guán”, as if it were not possible to be left-wing, liberal, progressive, without going through the sanchist filter, no matter how much we insist on repeating like a mantra that “we are” the far right. And now, in the midst of the emigration of birds to warmer lands, a little nightingale fresh from its cage sings its autumn song and we begin to roast the popcorn. And everything is poop color when the little bird opens its beak and spreads its wings to designate the shadow cast, the trace of its helpless flight.
