Short stories of a long journey

Tag: Photography

  • And why are they so sad, momma?

    And why are they so sad, momma?

    And why are they so sad, momma? Because the good ones die and the bad ones keep on running around.   Miss Rosario had a lifetime serving as a teacher; she had performed as the Social Science Professor, for more than thirty of the seventy-eight years of her long life. Pious (and maybe a bit sanctimonious) with a…

  • And why do the angels cry, momma?

    And why do the angels cry, momma?

      Speechless, she heard her friend narrating the death of Miss Rosario. The ossuaries          Bucaramanga City Cemetery, Santander. Colombia She was no more, no less, her favorite teacher. She was more than a teacher: on occasions she was their councilor, always tenderly trying to guide them by the right path. The…

  • Why does it rain so much, momma?

    A rainy day          Popayán El Cauca, Colombia   Why does it rain so much, momma? It’s the angels, Darling. They’re crying.  In the fog         Chipre, Manizales, Caldas, Colombia At ten o’clock in the morning the temperature was twenty-four degrees, and it rained. For the beginning of February,…

  • The games we play

    Contemplation          Panama city, Panama.   This is not decided by us, nor by God or his Angels. The last ride         Granada City, Granada Province, Nicaragua It is Life’s retaliation, the third protagonist in the Theatre of Existence. For he has never seen eye to eye along with…

  • Engraved into our skin

    Shared moment            Ibarra, Imbabura, Ecuador   But, to some of us, it may come to pass that in our life, we run into an event, not even Time can erase. Sunset in the highland          Carretera a Potosí, Potosí, Bolivia   Almost like a tattoo, it’s so…

  • The vision of a woman

    A rustic landscape   Renacer Hostel, Villa de Leyva, Boyacá. Colombia Amelia appeared. So silently that I never noticed her arrival. I saw her before me, a vision of the most beautiful woman; with a beer in each hand and a smile on her lips. She offered me one of the beers, and immediately after from…

  • Back to Bolivia

    Back to Bolivia

    A few months later, due to various commitments involving the project, I left Bolivia, and I briefly went back to Bogotá. Though I tried as hard as possible; I never found a clue leading me back to Amelia. She had vanished without leaving any mark of her passage. I travelled overland, back to Bolivia. In…

  • What could have been

    What could have been

      My life now belonged to a continuous battle in the Bolivian Amazon Region, where I would remain for several years as part of that project in those far away zones in the jungle.   My job offered me the opportunity to fight against my openly declared enemies and snatch away and their chances at…

  • Amelia

    Amelia

      I decided not to return to Bogotá inasmuch as possible, at least, for a very long time.      The streets reminded of Amelia. She was projected into the music of its bars; singing and acting out, with her unique style, as if she were the performing star. The aromas in the streets, they made…

  • Inside and out of Chapultepec

    Inside and out of Chapultepec

    Inside de forest, the path of the poets, offers the landscapes of the poetical thinking of Mexicans who wrote among other things… of Chapultepec in itself . Also, walking the outskirts of the forest, features the possibility of delighting  in the non-permanent  exhibits that contain a great diversity of themes as well as, mediums of expression… The Paseo de la Reforma avenue,…