Blow

H, i wonder if the wind blows straight or if it curves along the way, deciding where to go as it carries all the dust and sand from the soil.
you know, once there was a story that surprised me. it was a windy afternoon - like today . the wind was warmer and it kept waiving an old iron panel, standing in top of the saloon door. i remember perfectly that this small grey bird couldn't find the balance, as it was standing on top of the panel. it looks like that small fellow was perfectly enjoying the wind waves, lifting one wing and the other to avoid falling.
it did fall, in fact.
A small fox was looking anxiously to try to catch the bird.
as the bird lost its balance, the fox jumped smoothly, almost catching the grey flying animal.
on the last second the bird waived the wings and, taking advantage of the wind, it just escaped.
i noticed an old man was - as interested as myself - observing all the screen. we both start laughing and the old man, open the sun burned mouth and just told me: you can't catch a bird unless you know where the wind will blow next. as he stopped talking we both notice that the fox was know holding the bird in its mouth, moaning happily while you could
see the poor fellow disappear in its mouth
probably wind blows straight, at the end.

B, you're blowing my mind.

the dream of the blind

H, do you feel electricity in the air? must be a storm coming

Sorry B, i don't know how electricity feels like

you're right H, but some things you just learn to understand without doing or be told to

take blind people...

an old man i once met - a really old man, with a old skin and a very old beard to get along with it - ask me a question i could never understand: could blind men dream?

i told him yes, for sure, everybody could dream. it'l like sensing the storms, when you sleep your mind goes away and makes its shining or dark stories together. the dream is something that happens on the back of your mind and that brings together, without you sensing it, memories of reality

it's like you see reality trough an unconscious mind, that you can't quit remember, and i told the folk that blind people have also that unconscious part of the mind and, therefore, they could surely dream

clever answer B. by the way, the old man was also satisfied with that?

No! after i stopped talking he just stood up, cursed something at me, and left. before living the bar we were both having that bourbon, an old dog (perhaps even older than the old man) joined him at the door, and the old man start following the sounds of the poor animal an sensing the walls with his hands. perhaps he was mad because he couldn't dream. 

B, i can feel the storm now. let's find some shelter

wake up, it's dark outside

h,we still have time to get there, but i don't know i feel like it
you know, it has been quite a time we stood in the same road, and it's only the weather and the color of your mane that are changing.
landscape and sideways are strangely the same for a long time now... yesterday, when we set the fire, it seems that the woods were different and i could hear old voices talking to me again.
for the first time i could see the swans flying south in the shadows of the afternoon fire.
the swans, they're all gone now... that's also a relevant change in the landscape you know?

b, probably those voices fail to tell you that we have the crows, now... and you should know that swans don't go out at night

miss saphiro would never look back

miss saphiro would never look back, h
every single time she would speak, think, understand or feel she would go frontwards
one day she told me her story... . it was in an old bar, and we met there by chance. it was pouring rain outside and we decided to pour some drinks on our own. it was long time since i saw her... well, since i listened to her. this time she looked more relieved
i started drinking some low class bourbon while she was looking at me, not touching her glass.
for some reason, every single set of words that come out of my mind sounded dull and arid. i drunk another sip to bellieve myself more intresting or to make an alternative for a rainny afternoon.
i understood i couldn't challenge that rain when she looked and me and started telling me her story.
 
after two hours the bottle was sand dry, but my lips were arid as my mind was before. miss saphiro looked at me with her wet catty eyes fulled with low class bourbon, looking straightforward as always.
she kissed my face, and asked me if i was feeling all right.
before i finished my yes she walked out of the bar, without looking back
the rain had stopped

what story was that b?

sorry h, i don't wanna go back there

and mind a lullaby (reprise)

h, i could use some rest.
sure, b, just whisper one of your songs... it makes the night milder

a moving target

h, if you move is more difficult to aim at you... but if you move is also more difficult to aim at someone
some things are useful in one perspective, but completely foolish in another one. what bothers me the most is that sometimes you are doing one thing, and you still don't know if you are being wise or just playing fool, it will always depend... but this, of course, only when you can´t understand what you want to do, either to shoot or be shooted...

b, why would anyone like to be shooted? is better to move.
can we stop for some water?

better be judged by twelve than carried by six

here comes another desert storm, h

sky is turning dark grey and sand like olive green. water will be pouring in a while, and it’s better for us to find some shelter.

some years ago, I saw a man riding in a desert storm just like this one to start. his horse was a old one, but he was running wild. I couldn’t say if he was running on the wind direction or opposite, because the air moved like a tornado near me when he passed by.

after some two minutes, seven people were riding, also in a wild speed, in the same direction the man that has just passed me by. seven people but eight horses. the lonely horse was riding free with some blood on his neck. i could see it was blood because of the reflection of the rain drawing in it.

but that lonely horse was ridding just following the other ones, and still had a riffle pending. someone was riding it before and had some kind of finale, i'm sure.

he was the last one trailing. he was black, shining black, like a piano. He look completely  mad running to trail the other ones.  he could't lost the pace of the other horses, but he look wounded.

i wanted to know what was that all about and i start riding in the same direction. when i arrived at the little village, i just ended up seeing the first man running (better trowing himself)  into the sheriff house and the seven ones trailing him starting riding on circles around the sheriff house. they shouted something inside, that i couldn't ear, but they looked quite raged. they walked away riding fast, and i still remeber the scared look of the people from the village looking at them going.

the lonely horse, however, stood there. shinning his black color and drinking some water drops remaining from the rain. 

he was finishing the storm

b, do you think I'm still shining?