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Regalame that field of wild violets,

nourish a flash of unfinished

Returns

my last brother of your shadow,

Allende is nostalgia planets armed

routes are no longer warm miracles

Neither the remote light of a time that has not been

Scale abrupt mirror in which I am,

Stigma faithful in your eyes made smile when

The alone invokes a word in my shame,

A clear and fertile word that was never caress.

The voice of your memory shelters me, burning of

evenings silence, under your hand can still vibrate

The fire, if broken into the night to moan

A piano, a complete illusion, as the dawn

Consume, unstoppably, in light of our stars.

Regalame goodbye to blue violet, not spell,

order not to perish in the back of your embrace remote.

Ryuichi Sakamoto, "Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence"

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Wonder

long time ago a friend told me that sometimes shake the desire to leave the desert, literally "to be quiet."

That "be quiet" included, of course, you can shout all you want, running, jumping, throwing stones, hitting or kicking sand in the air ...

Interestingly, I thought I understood what she meant, because I too wanted it to go into the wilderness to "be quiet."

Over the years, I realized that actually what my friend wanted, what I also needed was let off steam, to go somewhere to take literally the three voices, release all the bad and negative in him to stay, "softer than a glove," without causing collateral damage, we will not spoil your time to anyone or to hurt someone close. Gradually we discovered that in the absence of desert, we could try to do the same based on fitness, giving blows to a bag, running to lléndonos Forrest Gump or drinking with colleagues in the office, yes, taking care not to invite the objective of our screams ...

After we got married, had children, and soon discovered another meaning of "be quiet", "how I like to spend a few days at home by myself without my wife giving me the barrel, without the kids touching the nose, dedicating myself alone and only me ... " Come on, what comes to be the life-Rodríguez.

The fact is that now "I am calm," Rodriguez bone. I'm just at home while my wife was on the beach with the children a week. Not the first year that passes, and it has served to confirm what I already knew all along: that I am worth for this, as I am, without it, the bed made me huge, a lonely moor where I toss and turn restlessly. And my eyes become useless because they only see walls instead of your face. And without children, empty house is a mansion that makes me think that what I want to change to a bigger ... Before going to bed moor my passage through the rooms, as every day, to say good night, kiss them while they sleep, and only find a dollhouse-sized and empty of anything important.

So tonight I have dreamed I was in the desert, as this summer, with them, really enjoying what it means to "be quiet." -----


The picture was taken this summer in Almería, in a development called "Desert Springs". Hope you like it.

1988 Lincoln Town Cars Rims

While Dad gets life

and Inessa Garmash Michael, "Looking at the Waves"

Since you are not the rains have gnawed

secular In our house, the rigid foundation.

Draw the wind inescapable arabesques

Cal between the friezes, the night is the agony

Improper a penalty; lackey of persistent

That light north without perishing, defeated

of anxiety, in many lights nut.

Naked in the afternoon, whiten walls,

Spilled in your sky, remains a tear

A piece of sunshine in the fog cystic without

innate innocence of a twilight appearance.

Life is a miracle of fleeting shadows,

A bard who failed to have Moral,

That is not enough to be sea on the verge of a sigh,

Neither the fateful slip of a dream, be a star.

cadent Under the backdrop of your eyelids, my dreams,

treasure the wake truly unforgettable;

Magic Senile hug salt and sand virgin

As kisses waiting outdated farming.

Since you are not, my house is a sigh,

A blue flight taxed indulgent lark.

Somewhere the two, the night is a second

To die a little, as life gets.