Post by account_disabled on Dec 10, 2023 6:18:44 GMT
Under the midday sun he returned home, his bag full of freshly picked poblanos . Her feet left clear footprints on the plain of the bajada and along the mountain slopes a wind rose to raise dust and memories of the past. Woman of tragic widowhood, affected by suffering and hunger, the voice of illusion extinguished and never returned. She walked slowly, with a tired gait, in the heat of that summer month, her mind no longer with thoughts but only ghosts of hopes that had not yet vanished. At lunch he reheated a portion of guisado left over from the night before.
Then he prepared a cup of atole, put five teaspoons of peloncillo in it and drank it, sipping it and blowing on the rim to cool the drink. The necklace of flatters that her husband had given her was imbued with the pain of his disappearance and the woman loved to hold it, to open the stones like a rosary and one by one to recite the name of the man she Phone Number Datawould never see again, not in that life, not in those places of dust. White as sclera , her dress wrapped that no longer young body like an ancient timeless shroud and the widow who wore it seemed to flaunt it proudly, wearing it like a wedding dress that recalls a distant but never faded day. He stood up. Under the architrave the lemniscated garland barely moved with a breath of air. Outside, everything seemed still, petrified by the sun, as if the woman lived in a color daguerreotype and not in a moving reality.
She looked out the open window at the mountain peaks bleached by the heat and suspended dust. That window became a sort of boleta for a lost world, made of unexplored peaks, crowded streets, smiling faces. Often, at night, when the moon appeared on the horizon, she loved to get lost in the twilight discs of the paraselenium , imagining finding up there, in that ethereal and ephemeral limbo, the man she had loved. But it was all illusion, the illusion that accompanied him throughout the last days of existence that he knew were near. And that gave her hope. The imminence of her death, which she knew was not her concern , even though the thought of suicide had crossed her mind several times, overcoming the barrier of sin, strengthened her soul and she found herself smiling, a statuesque figure in the middle of the room, a goddess mortal waiting to be freed from the chains of life.
Then he prepared a cup of atole, put five teaspoons of peloncillo in it and drank it, sipping it and blowing on the rim to cool the drink. The necklace of flatters that her husband had given her was imbued with the pain of his disappearance and the woman loved to hold it, to open the stones like a rosary and one by one to recite the name of the man she Phone Number Datawould never see again, not in that life, not in those places of dust. White as sclera , her dress wrapped that no longer young body like an ancient timeless shroud and the widow who wore it seemed to flaunt it proudly, wearing it like a wedding dress that recalls a distant but never faded day. He stood up. Under the architrave the lemniscated garland barely moved with a breath of air. Outside, everything seemed still, petrified by the sun, as if the woman lived in a color daguerreotype and not in a moving reality.
She looked out the open window at the mountain peaks bleached by the heat and suspended dust. That window became a sort of boleta for a lost world, made of unexplored peaks, crowded streets, smiling faces. Often, at night, when the moon appeared on the horizon, she loved to get lost in the twilight discs of the paraselenium , imagining finding up there, in that ethereal and ephemeral limbo, the man she had loved. But it was all illusion, the illusion that accompanied him throughout the last days of existence that he knew were near. And that gave her hope. The imminence of her death, which she knew was not her concern , even though the thought of suicide had crossed her mind several times, overcoming the barrier of sin, strengthened her soul and she found herself smiling, a statuesque figure in the middle of the room, a goddess mortal waiting to be freed from the chains of life.