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It rains, drops seek the transparency of the windows taken by the hand by timid rays of sun.
The sun retreats among its friend clouds and the benevolent darkness of nature remains to beat on the windows its call in search of friendship.
Friendship that we children do not grasp, and we retreat to the corner of the room, protected by an electric bulb.
The fake light is missing.
"Uncle, uncle, tell us a story that will bring back Grandpa Sun"
I light the magic candles.
I tell short stories, on strings that smell of incense. Stories from other times. Colored Chinese shadows dance on the wall and take you by the hand.
Stories of nature, you are friends with horses, dogs, cows, and they wait. You look in one direction and their friends wait.
They wait for the lost love, the new love, but they are with you waiting for the stories you tell, listening to your hopeful innocence. They look at you; you are their love with crossed arms perhaps waiting for just a diamond that brightens your entire life, maybe just for a day. You return the favor with a melody caressed with a smile from the heart and bring happiness.
The light returns.
"Again, tell us how it ends"
The spells are unique, they never have an end and are just a memory to tell.
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