January Road

Everything went so fast, I did not have time to react. Walking along a path in the term called Payment Malarino, jurisdiction of the village of Laguardia, to be exact. It was eleven o'clock on a Sunday in January. He sensed that the sun was shining on me, but the thick fog that covered the field is not allowed to see more than six steps. Environmental humidity pierced the thick coat and chilled the bones fragile due to age and years of outdoor work.

Result of the dedication, body and soul, to the vineyards. Everything was white, frosted white. The trees were of glass, and lamp posts, hanging icicles of more than three feet. Herbs of the road is fractured at every step. No animal had decided to leave his refuge from that landscape. I remember the look of a strain, even without pruning, there was nothing more beautiful, more design, or the MoMA in New York.

Nature is wise and very good artist, I thought. Leaving the narrow road, and turning the right, the path anchaba. A shadow suddenly appeared, was great difficulty walking and carrying something in his hands, that position was a weapon. A shotgun had its owner, it was Hunter. Known throughout the region, was a great person in all respects, for its size, and for his kindness and dedication to others. Life, somewhat disorganized, had taken its toll, she betrayed her walk, dragging his left foot. But there was no reason to stay home while partridges and rabbits roam the vast region.