Immaterial Gold

This time of year the light turns gold.  I always look towards Ocatavio Paz, the great Mexican poet.  He writes in his poem, "I Speak Of The City",  of this light:

Hablo de algunos antardeceres al comienzo del otono, cascadas de oro incorporeo, transfiguracion de este mundo, todo pierde cuerpo, toda se queda suspenso,

and, going on in English:

the light thinks, and each one of us feels himself thought by that reflective light, and for one long moment time dissolves, and we are air once more,.....

So that pretty much explains tango.  I feel, myself "thought" by that reflective light, the light of my partner and the music.  That perfect mirror through which I can travel in golden light. I feel myself thought by him.

Only, in times when I am working, and inspired, I have to rest, to have order.  But as they say, Tango Waits.