Detrás de las montañas de Santa Lucía la luz es tenue e imprecisa. El verde y el ocre se entrelazan cómplices del atardecer. El viento despeina delicadamente los recuerdos. Quiero imaginar que no estoy aquí en este domingo de añoranzas. Cierro los ojos para ausentarme y volver a percibir el aroma del patio de la
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