Power Walking Sticks Wheels

In the afternoon one, sometimes, come back, like today, of any working day in this city, no city, gray sky. One gets lost in the maze of streets. And we swim, fish processed is absurd, between the steps, tired eyes, between puffs of people, like thirsty horses, galloping between trains and / or trams, among hundreds of yawning ...

One, sometimes walking.

The cold, your touch, makes us, gives us, the miraculous transformation of our fingers Direct blue icicles escaping the cold-pockets hesitation what our pants or jacket.

One sometimes gets lost in the oceans of our thoughts. Take your mental table and which best surfer in the waves of fight, we are going to cook, what we get, luckily I am even now, to improve the situation, my pants just decided torn lining in the seam that goes waist to crotch. The blood did not reach the river, my underwear was dark and nobody, I hope, he realized, "organizing the organized, answering private mail, make calls

relevant ...

And we walk between coats darken, many steps swift, fast, they will not know where. Persons unknown to us cross our best French and dusted with incidental: "Excusez -moi" "désolé ", " jusqu'à demain "...

And sometimes when we least expect it, a ray of sunshine is open from both gray and cold stones. We do not see premiering smile and ballons. A distant music, but so close, holds the key to open the door to a flood of fresh air, smells of fireplaces longed known.

A voice as warm as I heard some time ago, we cherish. And remember smiles, places full of green known as exists only in the garden of my childhood, caimito bush with their orgy of sweet smell. The Clo-Clo of hens "ponquetas" without knowing it, Mrs. Helena. The delicious taste of passion fruit rapao that made Mrs. Aurora. The wonderful pies Mrs. Ricarda. And we long for, remember, looks sweet as December 31 or opening gifts. Comes the hoarse voice of my grandmother, "The Philosopher" or the perfect soprano voice of my mother when he gets to sing-a pity that it does so often.

And sigh ... and have our cheesy moment of the day, right back to us, among the large windows of the shops around here and we recognize ourselves as we were, long ago with skinned knees, dirty flannel and cheeky smile and distant corner of our childhood ...

And I listen, and do not know how many times ...

"Estrellitas seem fleeting,

your eyes that sometimes

me look petty

which pigeons fly restless

which sparks, which fireflies,

and you view and a view you. "

Mi Dulce Esperanza ... thank you very much. Quite simply, thank you very much ...

All the best for you.