The hour has come to stick my knife in the ground

The world you live in an instant and every detail you share a universe, everything that surrounds you is a different way of life and in each place where it flows, you will find teaching.

“The day will come when all your effort and pain will seek reward; each retribution will have a cost and also benefits ”

The Messenger

By Ariadne Gallardo Figueroa

The man from the South, after having crossed a mountainous stretch with great difficulties, remembered what some villagers had told him about the color of their eyes, in those lands they would be seen as a bad omen; He felt that the same snow-capped mountain warned him, leaving his vision blurred at times, from that moment he got used to smearing mud around his eyes and forehead to lessen the effects of the shocking shine of the snow.

In the heights he stopped feeling the presence of the Condor but an equally large bird followed him in the distance, his intuition told him that it could be an eagle, he noted with sadness that his visual acuity had undoubtedly decreased, so he kept a low profile when trying to hunt something so that the raptor would not try to snatch it. Despite everything, there was not much that could be achieved in the snow of that mountainous group. 

He had slipped down some slopes and that gave him an idea that his moment of reaching the mainland would be near and that way, he realized, when the blanket that he had been given and for which he had to fight to keep, ended up covering his head and not his cold body:

The man of the south has been called Hour by his friend a parakeet

It was at that moment when he received before his tired eyes and aching body the most impressive vision he had ever imagined, a medium-sized bird approached him, it was some kind of parakeet that happily turned around him when the man exclaimed haughtily and proud of being a survivor:

“The hour has come to stick my knife in the ground”

The parakeet flapping its wings shouted “Hour, Hour!”, this was the way the male from the eyes covered in mud he decided to name himself in strange lands, a place where for a time he received the gifts of everything he longed for: A land to cultivate and the company of a friend who had given him a new name within a bucolic landscape.

His need to be a constant and daring traveler had yielded to the peaceful wealth of that valley where he was able to cultivate and admire the beings of the habitat and recognize their customs, in this way he learned from the squirrels that it is not good to leave the harvest in the open; of the fox, that the loyalty in a quality that is gained respecting the other; of ants, that it is never good to sit naked near them; of the birds, that if you get to have a mate you must keep the nest watched and the young fed.

He dedicated himself to cultivating the land and admiring the wonderful landscape that surrounded him

This last detail reminded him of that angel who could observe in dreams, that figure that floated instead of walking and her feet were fast as the wind, then he asked:

<Is it possible to find a beauty like her in the middle of my loneliness? > 

He recognized that happiness is what you have and not what you want, from time to time he observed the pair of foxes that approached his fields and in the same way understood that the person who might one day love him would have to be similar to him and not an angel with powers like that reverie he admired in dreams.

A human being willing to see him grow old,  the same way like to the foxes and follow by his side with fidelity and tenderness, someone who wanted to have a child with him, in the same way as the birds that fed their own in the treetops until they teach them to fly.

That night he sighed and looked at his friend the parakeet who repeatedly said to him:

-Hour, Hour!

To which he replied:

– Yes, friend, it’s about time.

He snuggled up with relief and said to himself:

<Desiring what you don’t have is a danger, for something my destiny is this and not another>

Nobody knows the turns of life and neither if destiny is what you have in front of or what comes to you, but for now, the man from the South called Hour is happy and lives in peace.

The world you live in an instant and every detail you share a universe, everything that surrounds you is a different way of life and in each place where it flows, you will find teaching.

Photographs by the author with free PicsArt filter: “The man from the South decides to call himself Hour” and “The fruits of the earth”

Autor: Ariadne Gallardo Figueroa

Escribir es una de las actividades creativas más fascinantes que existe, indagar lo caminos de diferentes versiones, encontrar motivos para acrecentar el cauce de un relato y motivar a la lectura, es agradable para todo el que escribe


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