Once upon a time the story of a bird who thought he was a dog one day when he barked in the garden a cat walked past him and said, sir you are well endowed with feathers, but the story s stops there by lack of desire to convince others would be interested in this story, I do not want others to be interested in what I write, I want it to be and say, then we can always discuss the pros and cons but overall I'm happy, because for years I want the rhythm, and here by chance he made me want to go through it, I mean some thing but it stops somewhere, how do you know where and how, when and why, I establish my base camp, I have the whole mountain to climb, but do I really want to go there above, to be cold and plus I have vertigo, it is here, the grass is green and one is sure not to have his picture in the newspaper, which remembers those who remained in the shadows cool mornings that are repeated for years, nothing happens, time is a companion, he is with me in silence, he never smiles, always leaning forward as if he would run, but he stops in his momentum, it never slows, never-accelerating, it is there, always ready to serve, if desired