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Julio Jun 2019
A spring afternoon in Vuelta de Oviglado ... never was the green of the leaves so green.

My sister telling me that she would be  mother.

The hot afternoon arriving to Molinos, drinking water and eating bread in the fountain of the square.

The tales of Cachimayo by the light of the embers.

Listen to Patricia's voice calling me to dinner.

The night of love and balconies under the stars with Ro.

In her last autumn ,  Kosova happily running through the snow.
Julio Apr 2019
Ro
What caught my attention?

Her honest smile,
Her intense eyes.
Her curly hair.
Her relaxed face.

His soft and low voice.

What surprised me?

The ease with which she disarmed my complexities.
The sweetness with which she walked in all my corners.
the sonorous joy with her that filled the spaces.

Her love
frank, direct,
without folds,
without anesthesia!


What I amused by her?

Our culinary experiments.
Her uncontrollable fear of spiders.
Her concentration when I became serious.
When she pretended she did not understand my jokes.

Listen to her changing plans.

What I remember?

The walks in the countryside on summer nights.
When she sat at the table to put on her stockings.
The breakfasts in bed on Sundays !!
The mechanical effort to start her Citroën in the mornings.
Our games in the hammock of the gallery.


What I miss?

That I liked to go shopping.
That she bought me my shirts.
Her absolute complicity.
How she shuddered me.


What makes me sad?

That he has not discovered the secrets of those valleys.
That he has not spoken until sunset with Cachimayo Cruz.
when I believe listening to someone laugh like her.

That she is no longer my witness.
That she has not been a mother

— The End —