In the lands of the coffee, from the book, Searching for treasures
Historical Center, Puebla, Mexico
They were enjoying an unexpected moment of silence, one of those pauses that occur during a conversation. They were savoring the welcome sounds of the nostalgic Paisa songs that drifted in the air from the nearby pubs in the park. The romantic couplets of these melodies talked about love. They told stories about the authors and the interpreters of these songs. Trapped in the plight of their passions, they sang of a life that belonged to other long gone-by times, so far away from the present, as were the melancholic laments of their sorrowful rhymes.
Of those past times, the only thing remaining was the nostalgic memories and the sad songs that gently floated in the breeze, drifting through the morning air. Docilely they mixed with the discreet choir of the little birds, with their sweet morning singing that sprung full of life from the tall trees that linen de park. The local resident and the foreigner reveled in the sun’s warmth and suspended, they stood without envisaging beyond the present. That was the precise instant in which Jean Marie fell into a doze.
On Monday, two days before, on his trip from Medellin… (that Monday seemed today so long ago), the bus had stopped on the highway. It pulled over to the shoulder so that the passengers could get off and have lunch in the road diner, nicely placed next to the Cauca River’s bank.
The illustrator gladly took advantage of the stop to sit down, stretch, and eat something light. It was easy to find an empty table where to sit. His seat offered a superb view of the river’s waters. These flowed by without any significant concern or haste, nor with any pretensions until eventually reach the sea, its distant destiny, where, one day, all rivers finally arrive to die.