I have always been of the opinion that there is nothing more pleasing to memory than an unexpected encounter. Even more so, if it takes place far from home and the thoughts, which as a rule are not born with the gift of patience, remain childishly restless, missing the tasty treat of an adventure.

I would also be lying if I said that I was alone -although it is true, that following, as usual, the advice of Master Machado, I traveled light of equipage- because my invaluable friend @txatxy -and her friend by default, happy creator of a wonderful page of dreams, that responding to the name of @tximeleta, I have the pleasure to invite you to know- made me voluntarily of cicerone.

After lunch, we walked along the estuary, towards the market - situated, by affection and by default, on the edge of the old town - and to the church of San Antón, a temple in the slabs of whose plant, if one sharpens one's ear or by default, the door of this metaphorical golden cage is opened, where the restless swallow that is the soul remains prisoner, you can still hear the footsteps of the hundreds, thousands of pilgrims who, choosing one of the most beautiful, but also most painful routes, that of the Cantabrian Sea, directed their footsteps towards that dream of faith and adventure, called Santiago de Compostela.

We were at the beginning of December and when I saw him, leaning indolently on the handrail surrounding the promenade, I thought that Juan Salvador Gaviota had returned home for Christmas, as the nougat slogan ‘El Almendro' (The Almond) said.

It was a brief encounter, of course, but enough for my friend Juan Salvador to remind me of that beautiful African legend that he knew during some of his many incredible journeys and that I always put, in his name, as a Christmas greeting, moved perhaps by those feelings of human nobility that affect all of us - or leave it, almost all of us - because of these important dates.

Talked Juan Salvador, caressing with parsimony its grayish white feathers, that a boy, walking by the forest, a beautiful bird was found. The boy took the bird tenderly and took it home, asking his father to feed it. But the father, ignoring him, killed the bird. And by killing the bird, he also killed the song.

I remember this anecdote, because it saddens me to see what is happening in Weku lately and how selfishness is making a dent in something that we can all do together. And on behalf of Juan Salvador Gaviota, I would like to remember -and I reiterate my gratitude to that great person who is @txatxy, whose friendship honors me- how beautiful is a concept so simple, but at the same time so great, as Friendship.

For it is no folly to end by saying that whoever kills Friendship also kills himself.

WARNING: Both the text and the accompanying photographs are my exclusive intellectual property.

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Te invito a conocer el mundo del que estoy enamorado.
Image © juancar347. All Rights Reserved.
Original content by @juancar347
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[Martial, latin poet]

Ars vtinam more Animvm qve effingere. Posses pulchrior in ter. Ris nvlla tabella foret.

Arte Ojala pudieras representar. el carácter y el espíritu. No habría sobre la tierra. Imagen más bella