The human-birds



The literary reflections on Nature, between imaginary and reality fantasy.

 I’m looking at the field lo have been here to hear the birds sing since 1.100 a.C for was possibly emerged this plane. I live nearby here and each morning still dawn, before sunrise and its rays are cutting out all borders along the mountains flashing up the reflection on river skin filling the lake of a blue never seen creating an atmosphere of light refreshing by wind that crosses all regions taking wings of many colors dancing in the air and diving to the bushes, fluttering joyfully among late flowers with the new of the season. It is  springtime and it is possible to still see an ocean of blue and orange from winter.

I have been more cautious with modifying my feelings of equality of the weather; I was skeptical about beliefs on nature equality, but it is not with human intervention. The seasons are no longer the same, colder and hotter in variation with raged winds and rains,  tempests than I could imagine before.

This valley is something very strange, I live on the edge in Parana State to the south between plateaus. I can say that hasn’t changed nothing, except for different migratory birds that are landing to enjoy this place.


Actually everything walks for me about my time, and the environment will definitely change. It is impossible to know what is to come, what unfortunately we know is that the fights to protect the nature do not reach all the circumstances that involve these transformations.


Thus, like education does not reach powerfully the complete human formation, the tragic natural situation in capitalism is like the percentages between the birds that come here for what is wasted. 


Therefore, the year percentile of hungry and poor is very much increasing and few sees. The fact is evident in all political senses, and for some reason we are responsible for delaying the destruction process, but until now we do not know as well what can be done to humanity.

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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