Chapter 6: The Cocoon of wallflower.
And with his usual half smile he continued walking and eating those strange tropical fruits, walked for hours exploring and feeling like a boy scout, remembering his tropero times, he brought the fire axe in his hand when he noticed that something moved between the grasses, in a single instinctive movement he threw the axe that was cleanly strung at the base of a tree, where he saw something moving furtively out there.
-Let them shave me once again!
He exclaimed aloud again, when in another automatic movement, he already had the 07 knife in his hand ready to be launched.
"In my life I had managed to string a knife!
"Try as hard as I might, and this time I did it with an axe, if I had never used one!" And less to practice throwing.
Saying this, he threw the knife without aiming at another tree achieving a perfect shot, being skewered as if it had been thrown by a professional.
-Daemons! I knew that we Mexicans were Good to throw knives by tradition but this is ridiculous, I can not believe it yet, I had never hit the hole of the marbles and now it turns out that I am an expert knife thrower.
And thinking about this he took the axe and the knife and repeated the feat, achieving 2 perfect throws in different tree trunks, he was practicing excitedly just over an hour, until he made sure that his new skill was not pure chance, besides that he had already debarked all the trees that he had within his reach, the glooms fell again, indicating that it was time to find another place to spend the night, the forest was still as silent as when he arrived, with little lianas and twigs, he began to improvise a roof and walls composed of leaves and branches, making a wall that would protect him from the cold breeze that he knew followed the bed of the stream, Once he finished his shelter that had remained as a small cave attached to the trunk of a tree, he entered and lit his Cigarette number 3, being very careful not to set fire to his improvised home, recharged in a branch expressly built as a refiller, reinforced with stones, smoked and looked at the entrance of the palisade as if scrutinizing the darkness.
As was his habit he felt in the bags of his overalls and stole his cell phone that when he turned it on began his routine signal search protocol, when the command appeared without service, he made a typical gesture of disdain, illuminated around him, As if checking that the moorings were very firm, when looking at the stars between the branches of his roof he realized that if it rained little he would be served by that crude roof, the reflective stripes that his overalls had sewn on the sleeves and the bastille, flashed on contact with the light of the cell phone, With his usual half-smile he turned it off, and he felt it again in his pockets in search of some of those yellow fruits that he had saved, he felt a lump on the outside of his right leg in the middle and took it out, it was a Harmonica in the pocket where the 07 knife should go he placed his harmonica, a fact that he had forgotten and with a few soft blows he began to sing and sing in a low voice, notes and lyrics that came to his mind.
The cocoon of wallflower.
Not even a cocoon of wallflower,
It's as beautiful as your name to me
Not even an exquisite flower
She is as beautiful, as you, love.
When I think of you
I think of the most beautiful
On your cute lips and in your hair.
In your big eyes that are like 2 stars
That they look at me, from the sky.
In the evenings, I would like to talk.
With the stars.
And ask them, if it's you
A beautiful angel.
That God sent to Earth
To fall in love, my heart.
If the cocoon, that the one I told you about
Seeded among pink clouds
And illuminated by any star
It became a flower.
Even so
You would be more beautiful.
When he finished reciting what had come to his mind, carving his hands in his arms, he said:
-As long as I don't caress that little breeze, everything will be fine.
He took off his boots and accommodating them like a pad he prepared to sleep, of course, trying to be alert and when he closed his eyes for a moment, he heard again that angelic voice that He seemed to come out from everywhere saying:
<<Sleep peacefully wandering knight I will take care of your sleep tonight too. >>
In a silent movement he took out his 07 knife and this time he did not move, waiting attentively for whoever said those words, to appear, and again he did not know at what moment he fell deeply asleep.
When night fell and dawned at dawn, the wind carried away that soft tune, while a lost walker rested, illuminated only by the light of a of a star that from above, his sleep watched.
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