It was not just any day for me like the ones that follow one after another until the seventh of the week or thirty or thirty-one of the month. It was exactly March 24, I don't remember what year, but I can assure you that it was my birthday. I was sitting on an old stool, under the shade of the TREE that long ago divided the dimensions of the patio of my house in half. He has never given us a mamoncillo (anoncillo) because he is male but he has witnessed all the events that have happened in my family, the good times and also the bad ones. From there I watched as the DOOR that gives access to one of the side corridors of my house slowly opened. It was my little daughter who, like a fleeting STAR, was looking, with her eyes still full of sleep, for her father to carry her in his arms. I called her and told her, come here, come with me and look with me at that great white CLOUD that the wind carries away and carries away the best memories that are passing through my mind right now. My little girl asks me: Dad, what memories are those? I replied: when I was a pilot those clouds were not as far away as that one; I used to fly them when I flew the planes in which I trained. But I am no longer old for a RETURN, now only you and I, on this old stool, we will fly imaginatively until we reach that white cloud. And then, back home, we will tell Mom the details of our beautiful trip.
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