Cheap flights to another galaxy.
I woke up when the first light of the day, they were playing hide-and-seek with the shadows of the trees and I put a crust in my backpack, a bottle of water and opened the lens of my eyes to all that it gave. Immediately the smells came to meet me and he, barely perceptible, the leaves rustling in the morning wind.
I discovered that dry leaves and dust are family, that dew and clouds are only one morning away, and it is the light when caressing the wings of butterflies, the key to their dance of colors, when passing through the drops of water, the mistress of the rainbow, of the mystery that cherries are red and lemons green.
And suddenly I find myself in an abandoned church, and its walls of silent boards tell me the story and I can see sweaty men laying the timbers, hoping that time will forgive them, and then the words turned into prayers, into prayers and supplications. So that the smell of incense would make the mystery of stopping time and death would not come.
Then Mother Earth and Father Sun, causing wild flowers to grow next to the dying walls, the stones of the road, daring to defy the passing of the years and the light as a silent witness, sneaking through the cracks like mischievous children what are you playing.
The Sun had already crossed half the sky, when I returned home, soaked in beauty and pure air, feeling more of a friend to the green that is beginning to be life and the dust that simply is, more differently. In a few hours I made the trip to the mysterious flight of the butterflies and I witnessed the decline of the tree trunks, turned into walls of an old church, the arrogance of the flowers that adorn without knowing if another visitor has to pass and the silent warning of the road, which sees the walker pass.
