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Winter

The landscape is gray, a black worn by a barely perceptible Autumn and the vague memory of last Summer. It smells of nostalgia, tears are shed from the best shared moments while the present freezes waiting for Spring. Every morning the colors tend to get naked in front of the stove, while the white dragged clouds become rain. Loneliness persists relentless under a victimism complex capable of frightening anyone who approaches. It is a time of laziness, languid looks and slow gestures, excusable excuses, reproaches and repentance. Winter smiles ironic behind a wool cloak, wearing white gloves and top hat, faithful servant of Spring that seduces him under promises of flowers and warm sunsets. She coquette prepares for the great event, enjoying the agony of the desire of all those who crave her. Winter will serve his cold soul on a platter so that when Spring arrives everyone will receive her in love. Then He will travel to other latitudes always hoping that, one day, Spring will leave Autumn and surrender to Summer.

Eva Texido Font

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