To be a hawk without being it.

 





Sometimes unexpected things happen, stranger in part.

This little short story is about that and how we can overcome our pains through our courage.

Like I say, It happens. We suffer from shame, the malign use of our confidence and goodness, and the loss of a personal belief in a life with value.

We can be wounded and afflicted without those who can help us immediately.

Parents, friends, or someone occupied with caring for and protecting people without refugees appear. It comes away suddenly because they remember who you are.

It came from a dream that I had the other day night.

I dreamed a Falcon took the little bird from the nest and flew beaten against it on the wall.

It fell, and the parents helped him to return to the nest.

A time after, it created wings and flies.

Later, he found the hawk and bicked his soul.

He turned himself into a simple mockingbird with the strong spirit of a hawk that sang his song in the garden.

He is different after that experience.

To be a hawk without being it.

He is magnificent.

                                                                             #######

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Books and Stories in Portuguese, English, Spanish, and a little in French:

Books and Stories

I am someone who came from a place that never was. River water, calm lakes, waterfalls, edges where bushes and trees grow, the open field, the sky reflected in my hands in the trembling mirror of the river, the waits I am, this man lying in the river in the middle of autumn of my existence, loves his children, he likes to be alone, and he has a great company. I leave out the conceptual groups that put their finger on the face and follow fashion. I try not to be like that. In this boat, I am also the water where I sail. I take the sky with me, the fields, the flowers, and the fragrant herbs all my mornings. I am a being of the dawn. The scandal of nature in the voice of a bird, the incessant hum of the bells that insects make. I look like it, but I am not afraid of anything. I do not think I ever was. Indeed, my father, especially my mother, sweetly led me to read and write. I am always primary; I am still learning to read and write, row, and let the boat go safely. pmnt

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