With the risky “top kill” of the leaking Macondo well still apparently targeted for Wednesday morning – a process that may take 1-2 days, even if successful, which itself is a 50/50 thing – I thought it was a nice time for a Macondo moment.
Here, then, is Gabriel García Márquez from the opening paragraphs of his wonderful One Hundred Years of Solitude:
Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice. At that time Macond was a village of twenty adobe houses, built on the bank of a river of clear water that ran along a bed of polished stones, which were white and enormous, like prehistoric eggs. The world was so recent that many things lacked names, and in order to indicate them it was necessary to point.