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As túas balas » Blog Archive » días

Levo a penas unhas horas nesta aldea de miss marple, situada a uns corenta minutos andando dunha pequena vilamarple, situada á súa vez a unha media hora en tren dunha gran cidade.
O outono nesta aldeamarple é fabuloso. Xa non é o brillo rubio dos arces nin a verde herba a cachón. Tampouco a poalla e o sol que, ais, agora, aí rapidamente, escintila. Nin os coellos nin os esquíos grises que corrican por acó como se todo isto fose deles, porque o é. O outono é fabuloso nesta aldeamarple malia que vivo nunha residencia cutreira, sen conexión a internet, cunha estraña ducha, sen trebellos de cociña, e pola que pago un prezo bastante excesivo. Ademais, estou nun sitio moi afastado e cústame atopar xente polo camiño: onte crucei cun vello tolleito que andaba en cadeira de motor cun pucho da bandeira escocesa calzado ata as orellas, e pensei ‘vaia, un veciño’.
Pero o outono é fabuloso nesta aldeamarple porque escoitas o maxestuoso voar dos cisnes por riba túa e porque aínda non me atropellaron. E faltou pouco.


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