I was leafy and raised, I was placed on a creek; I was a tree. Near the border the ends by my roots were obstinate; to the stop, the branches in the dense glass move the leaves, untiringly. The nests of the birds hung in my flanks. In the slope the ice cream rumored river of piedemonte. No traveller cheered up until these moments for happening this way, the tree still did not appear in no croquis. Thus I lay and hoped; he had to hope.
All tree that has stood sometimes, can leave of being tree without destroying itself. He was once in the morning I do not know if Monday or Thursday, my thoughts always were confused, gave returns in my wise person; towards that morning of spring; when the volume of the river was stormy, I listened to the passages of a girl. , right. Aquitate tree, ponte straight, branch without leaves, support to the old swing that you has been trusting. They both hang rigid mecates of its seat; if columpia, dates to know and, like a wind of the creek, columpia it in your firm branch. Amount in the swing, soon subject arrived and with his small hands of both mecates of the old swing and it began to columpiar itself on my branch. The end of its black zapatitos brush my nested trunk and maintained a long short while there to them, while it probably watched with anxious eyes his around.
I was then I dreamed after her on the way and the field that balance moving with both piecitos in half of my body. I shook in the middle of a rhythmic movement, admired than it happened. Who was? A girl? A sky small piece? A dream made reality? An anxious angel? A lover of the nature? A naturalist? I became to be able to see it. The tree I incline! It had not finished inclining to me, when or it got worse the wind, inclined to me more and more towards the left, and or my roots were torn and my trunk floating in the waters of the river that always had watched to me so calmly from their immense volume. Author original and source of the article