March, 2005
opened the cortinitas ... inche opened my eyes making me look towards the window and saw the pine wet from the fall of the South, and pretend to wake up in amazement I stare at the show that gave ko droplets from the sky over the houses to welcome Temuco. .. The Assistant to the bus to his,, and I did not sleep a wink all night, imagine the impatience in waiting to take out my bicycle luggage carrier .. but had to wait more ... because clean and angry rain tumbled down, and went to breakfast at the terminal while listening to the news from the Vatican about the recent death of John Paul II,, .. was a common breakfast for Temucano Quimey time they did the terminal .. .. But the Coffee with melted cheese bread was different for me, it tasted as a Typical food temuco, but it was a simple breakfast ... And every time she took a sip and looked Mount Ñielol always been there, I was dying to go whole or wondered how other people did to avoid having the same deseos.Por finally finished! .. I entertained me! .. pass the water! .. I grabbed my bike!, I put the headphones on my ears stiff with cold and I long for the main street of Temuco, and there was the purple singing the ear, there were the streets with their rukitas wood, there was this Smell of many mixtures, there were people and waking up early, there were many pictures of other years tung waiting, there were the apple
pointing to eat them all, because I always wonder
Mapu still amazes me the red, the breath of wind from the South, speaking Mapudungun Dome, with the scent of apples that have no other, the greetings of the people on the street without knowing, and the accent of the guentrus peasants, Me love the terminal "Rural" to go to Puerto Saavedra instead of the modern, the first women has
baskets, a couple of chickens and achaguales in the carrier bags, a merchant, half asleep he did not touch seat, and the bus is very alaraco old, complains every time he touches the path of stones ... While the windows are never closed and the smell gets forced through the cracks ... and tickles my nose and my teeth start hover as if to laugh
is true that people turn away from me, but this kind of people tell me much, it's really like some things, but a place like this would be perfect,
The way nakmen tillage is to fast .. but the journey to port is to look at the fields, the trails, streams, rivers, the figures that leaves the cloudy day in heaven, and to eat sprouts that I stole the road.
A slender young farmer greets me with pretentious intentions .. makes the bike and start wiggling desperately to remember whether it was chance that I made the coat of cat "before leaving the terminal, but in the South is always ready to forget me" .. when the peasant Guentru away on the road with the chupalla in his hand, makes me think seriously about the future .. and decide I want a man with big hands "to work the land .. I say ... When in Santiago
new images will have to think about, and remembering that I know are the same as always strange, because every time I look the South Kallfü Wenumapu tells me things that still do not understand, I need, and for the wind blows in between the polar neck, but nothing I am aware of and focused on many things.
pointing to eat them all, because I always wonder
Mapu still amazes me the red, the breath of wind from the South, speaking Mapudungun Dome, with the scent of apples that have no other, the greetings of the people on the street without knowing, and the accent of the guentrus peasants, Me love the terminal "Rural" to go to Puerto Saavedra instead of the modern, the first women has
baskets, a couple of chickens and achaguales in the carrier bags, a merchant, half asleep he did not touch seat, and the bus is very alaraco old, complains every time he touches the path of stones ... While the windows are never closed and the smell gets forced through the cracks ... and tickles my nose and my teeth start hover as if to laugh is true that people turn away from me, but this kind of people tell me much, it's really like some things, but a place like this would be perfect,
The way nakmen tillage is to fast .. but the journey to port is to look at the fields, the trails, streams, rivers, the figures that leaves the cloudy day in heaven, and to eat sprouts that I stole the road.
A slender young farmer greets me with pretentious intentions .. makes the bike and start wiggling desperately to remember whether it was chance that I made the coat of cat "before leaving the terminal, but in the South is always ready to forget me" .. when the peasant Guentru away on the road with the chupalla in his hand, makes me think seriously about the future .. and decide I want a man with big hands "to work the land .. I say ... When in Santiago
new images will have to think about, and remembering that I know are the same as always strange, because every time I look the South Kallfü Wenumapu tells me things that still do not understand, I need, and for the wind blows in between the polar neck, but nothing I am aware of and focused on many things.
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