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In the afternoon of that day I tried to isolate myself: I tried to reconstruct the past time with my memories; I wanted, by one of those frivolous tricks of pain, to travel the same places as in other times, to evoke my own ideas and to hope that a breath of resurrection would give me back the objects my heart has lost forever.

When time leaves ruin standing; when the stone and the tree survive, as there are beings left to question about the past: it is the corpse giving testimony of the life that passed; but when everything disappears and is replaced in an impossible metamorphosis, then the dead person is the one who witnesses that fatal evolution; It is the complete renovation of other beings, of other buildings, of trees that inhabit the former desert fields; the contradiction is formed by us, the upstart is that traveler from another geological layer of time, whom this world receives with indifference, in which we have but an inconsequential representation.

That is how old age is, and she, not my person, seems to walk through those transformed places. I took, between rooms with gardens, between streets of gigantic trees, the lonely course, in another time, of a very sad plain, north of the city.

The plain did not exist; wide path limited by the fences of the fields, led me to the place where I had

I had to sit down in 1866, and where I entrusted the deep tribulations of my soul to God and space.

In that place, then of great solitude, in front of horizons that allowed us to glimpse the infinite, I let my spirit float in that voluptuousness of dreaming, in which it seems that songs from other worlds lull us, that offer us immortality smiling.

The distant galloping of a horse, whose rider had the appearance of the ranchers of my country, brought me out of my meditation; That man caught my attention, and called her more, because he was resolutely addressing me. He approached me, in effect, he asked my name, I answered it; He put a letter in my hands, I read the envelope, and when I raised my eyes, the man had disappeared. Later I found out that he was dependent on a Mexican friend who had a ranch three leagues from San Antonio.

I curiously opened my letter, and it contained another from Mexico; I unfolded it anxiously and a piece of paper fell to the ground, a piece of paper that I picked up.

They were signs, not letters, of an idolized hand, uncertain, erased with tears; They were the last goodbyes of my holy mother, who had died raising her adored head to hear my steps …

No, it is not possible for me to renew that moment of infinite pain here; I feel hurt by the spectacle of my anguish …

Among the trees, fertile fields with their hues of emeralds and gold, stretched out in the fields with laughing pomp, the cattle gathered with their thousand sonorous echoes, to rest in their stables, and pure and silent in the western sky, the The evening star shone in the sky as symbolizing the sacred memory of the woman from whose womb I received life.