It smells like autumn on the edges and not just because of the weather. “Oh, what a deal this need is down!” the poet told us, and if a certain abomination is felt in the area... Among the politicians, institutional patriotism has long been adrift and lost its grip, between the reams of challenges that they themselves have never believed and the increasingly loud calls to return to the mark, the possibility of losing the Government’s command pole (and all the citizens that it pursues) is more real than ever:

no more than twenty years thanks to Benegas the Petty-Bourgeois, no less than ten years now, thanks to the illegitimate shift of opinion.

This patriotic left, imprisoned and silenced, although the powers are accustomed to it in the undemocratic situation to continue denouncing it. After denouncing it, however, it must also be added and denounced that they cannot get rid of the burden of iron, when even the most blind and stubborn should be clear that this old strategy, in addition to having no chance of winning, leads the whole movement to the bottom. Will he learn from that rotten horde of Loiola? Will we have to wait another 10 years for that?

But outside of politics I don’t see much room for hope either. It seems to me that in the Basque language we are walking in a vacuum of inertia, with no new ideas or illusions; the team of Baztarrika has undoubtedly shown greater dynamism, but I don’t know if it has the potential to go beyond the illusion gathered in the cellophane; if we were half as bad as our society demands, but I equally insist on society itself, in a total lack of courage, without much more worries about how the economic downturn will affect us. Yes, this year, around the Durango Fair, spread the sounds of crisis in Basque culture as well.

In the annual cycles, spring inevitably and inevitably blooms after autumn and winter. On the other hand, in the cycle of every living being, there comes a descent that will not be the announcement of a new dawn but the precedent of its end. It is impossible to say what kind of autumn we live in, because the destiny of the peoples is not written in the stars, but waiting for us to write it ourselves. As the poet said, “I don’t want the day to turn into the night.”