That Old River's House

That Old River's House

     It was a warm day in June. There I was, rocking in the relaxing and cozy hammock. The perfect view from the river. First sit I can tell. I could smell the air, so dense and humid. But a perfect breeze touched very gently my face and arms. The silence surrounded that harmonious environment. Anything could be that perfect. Looked at the river, some boats sailing far away. If you could see them, they were like miniature objects. The old paint and their distinct appearance fishermen made me create long lasting stories about their work, their lives, even though about the fish they caught. Sometimes I could fantasize in an under the sea stories.

Back in reality, a huge air flow distracted me from my own thoughts. The rocking time was over. I must move from that pleasant place. I looked at the sky some gray clouds were surrounding my beautiful and peaceful spot. I thought myself that was bad luck. I could keep creating all kind of tales all day long. Suddenly, I Heard my mom's voice, demanding me to come inside the house. That was it, I thought. My time up from the rest of the world was over, but just for today. Oh boy! I really miss my old townhouse.

By: Roxana Perales Franco