Between slices

 

Now along, we are alone, our dreams will be forgotten, and our lives will be directed to the aims of production. We will talk about the world, the things, or what we have kept. Anymore we can jump on the lap of community; nevermore will we be thinking in a world of intertwined hands.

By the shore the old man would seem wonder with stick rod stuck on the sand. He sat in a small chair, all his body dropped like a seal grin for nothing. Maybe he was waiting for that fall the rain promised for those days. I saw another man like him, he had, I think, something similar in age to him. I sounded when they started the conversation.

This guy seeing the abrupt sea with sliding waves dancing with foam told him that he fished there some time back. Ongoing he asked him if does not would be he to change the baits.

The old seal slipping out saying that does not have bound hooks on the line. I am only leaving for now or tomorrow.

The man sadly answered: tomato! And just take a step back and say: I do not be like you, I cannot create this kind of traps for others and for myself. I do not can tell whom I am being with others that not accept me without justification, and I do not be with others to explain to them for what I live with.

The seal answered what would seem a quest: it is fishing, you not take baits, one lives without fishhooks.


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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