Cachoeira, Águas, Rio, Rocha, Molhado

The river flows, calm, in my mind, bringing the remains of foam, rolling, rolling, in its whiteness, before my eyes. Occasionally, a colorful goldfish skips out of the water, as if spying on me, waiting for a lump of bread crumbs, or, who knows, wanting to grab a little mosquito from what you can see, everywhere.
You can smell the pleasant smell of the riverside bush. I see the colonhão, which the cattle crushed in order to reach the well and quench their thirst. I see the cattail, with its body stretched above the water and its red spike, soft, as if it were made of velvet, more like a festive day dress. The branch of ingá, swinging its leaves, almost at the same level as the river water. A strong smell of cattle, comes from the north. Everything that originates in the north touches me deeper, stirring my feelings.
At the top of the hill, imposing, the cruise can be seen from where I am. Thinking pulls thought. Saudade resembles homesickness. The river flows in my body, and makes me feel the force of its current, which I am breaking, winning, with precise, safe, regular, methodical strokes. The water makes me feel good, in contact with my skin. The margin is getting closer and closer to my hands. I can calmly choose where I’m going to go.
The river flows with me in recuerdos. But, looking so far, in time, I feel that the image I see is no longer the same as before.
At that moment, in a corner of my mind, you appear, looking at me, smiling and walking towards me. Until I stood beside me, my feet wet from the waters of the river of my childhood. Which, as if illuminated by a fantastic, ghostly light, became even more beautiful, with you returning with me in time, over there.

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