Today I preferred wake up closer to Ariguanabo. Its a birthday and I could not miss the celebration. I wanted to join the bard and let me bask in the grace of the people of this unique town.
Without the thick green forest, the quiet of an enigmatic river, cold mornings smelling tobacco and sliding hill that saw more than a boy in Chivichana, how would be this town?
The axemen knew of the wealth of a huge forest. A tavern became the road of tired men from here or there. French, canaries, Creole, is this place that was baptized in 1794.
San Antonio Abad, Los Baños, humor, political cartoons, films of three worlds. El Bobo and El Loquito, a large landscape, a troubadour and his unicorn, mythical figures, women, youth, men proud of their birth.
The ceiba, yagrumas, the simplicity of a people who enjoy life. This day of worship rites and popular history to enter and stay in their singing. To coin poets, restless hummingbirds, voices and hands in a single theater.
Go back the way here. Artists stand. Their canvases, their workshops, their brushes, their skins. Metal or wood, wire and dances, ballet or symphony. And harmony is in radio linking, colored sound beautiful so many people, beyond some verses, in cyber space and time.
