Cold

Writers keep journals since they were kids. I wish I could have written my young memories then, but, not much to think or scratch my head or wondering why or what if..? For now I like writing and, sometimes, much more than sleeping.

The hills around here are getting frost or light snow this time of the year. It is nice to have an other cup of coffee with a bit of whiskey in it, but, when writing, when listening to Cuban, Mexican or flamenco music, when expressing my thoughts about something or someone my throat needs a cold, very, very cold beer. ( Sorry dear friend Sofía Desiré, but I love beer )

I look around the room and two eyes are on me. My dog, Milo, is looking at me and with joy celebrates that I am looking back at him. He jumps on the couch and bark-talks with me like if he was telling me something about his former life - of which I don't know much about since I adopted him from a shelter- that desperately, he wants to share with me.

Little hairy friend - my dog - I said to him, I wish I could join you in celebrating how happy you are here, but I am busy, thinking, drinking some crazy water and writing,..but surely, I enjoy your company! So now what? I finally roll out of bed, well, I am taking a short vacation from work, i took a shower and pack my small accumulation of possessions in preparation for getting back to on the road or a hike to find out.

Fidel Guerra,.