The sun shines on the mica in the earth. The harvest bugs accompany our thirst, while behind the walls the breeze creates soft changing shadows. There the year goes through its cycles; fresh green where later the flowers will born, orange blossom that intoxicates us in March, juicy fruit to slake the thirsty palate when we seek the shade, and always the memory of the water from the spring, which I drank from a rolled up lemon leaf my father gave me, there by the ripples of the pool: paradise of a past time. Guillermo Pérez Villalta