Abel Aquino I go walking for the narrow track of the forest. Not necessary to have haste. I see rocks of a side and of the other, some point its quinas with respect to inside of the track and our legs pass for them with care. It does not have noise of stranger in this hour. The sun is in the point highest of the sky and the leves of the trees repicam the light and leave to only arrive at the ground disformes pieces of clarity. The leves deceased are covering the ground and I force the tip of the boot in the ground to raise these leves and to see the color of the land.
I choose a caido trunk to seat and am looking at my return. I observe movement of leves highest on the pressure of the wind. A bird flies of a twig for another one. At this moment I do not obtain to think, to remember voices, shouts of people. I am usufructing of the aroma of the grass and the gorjeios of the nature. My grandfather liked to count for the children the things of the bush, them meeting of animals and men and people heard embevecida. It seated to the side of the firewood stove, looked at for our faces of curious boys, he raised the finger and he said of facts and almost fantastic adventures. forest became, in our imagination, the kingdom of almost homricas histories, stuffed of cases, scares and fear. But today I do not have fear, I do not feel that anxiety to imagine the perigos and unexpected that can follow a man walking for the tracks of the bush. I try to imagine as it would be the life of our ancestral ones, inhabiting caves, being unaware of streets, avenues, cars, skyscrapers, airplanes, pollution and estressante life.