Few are the memories I keep from the best times of my life: my childhood
As he recalled that scene, sitting in the comfort and warmth of his kitchen, Felipe, shivered reliving that moment recovered from the chest of lost memories of long past times.
On that morning in particular, he never imagined that he would once again listen, and with the same consternation, to that pathetic howling in the night that would freeze his soul, his blood, and the marrow of his bones. For there was something sinister, if not eerie in the tonality of that sound, something akin to the lament of a soul lost in the darkest reaches of the night.
Who would have thought that Felipe and Pilar were to hear something similar, six years later, precisely that night while they were enjoying their wine in the intimacy of their kitchen, sharing their thoughts, and celebrating the first piano composition by, Cipriano, their son…?
Six years before, Angelica had also been deeply impressed by the whining of that dog, in essence, so alike, which had disrupted the family breakfast. And rightly so, for on that occasion, the barking managed to evoke one of the very few memories she still kept from her childhood days.
So, that was how Angelica was lifted in the flight of her mind in that early morning, still further back in time. A day that also lay beneath a generous sun, but with a difference: the cold of the highlands could be felt impregnating the winds as they blew. This happened when Angelica was but five years old.
The morning in question occurred in the city of Villa de Leyva, which was to the north of Bogota. It was the month of August in the year 1847…
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