It is the blood of the Luna's to be quiet, for only a quiet man can learn the secrets of the earth that are necessary for planting -- They are quiet like the moon
And it is the blood of the Marez to be wild, like the ocean from which they take their name, and the spaces of the llano that have become their home.
Now we have come to live near the river, and yet near the llano. I love them both, and yet I am of neither.
I wonder which life I will choose?
But I am growing, every day I grow older
Ay, hijito, do not trouble yourself with those thoughts. You have plenty of time to ind yourself--
We were silent for a long time, lost in memories that the murmur of the mourning wind carried across the treetops. Cotton from the trees drifted lazily in the heavy air. The silence spoke, not with harsh sounds, but softly to the rhythm of our blood.
What is it?
It is the presences of the river
I held my breath and looked at the giant, gnarled cottonwood trees that surrounded us. Somewhere a bird cried, and up on the hill the tinkling sound of a cowbell rang. The presence was immense, lifeless, yet throbbing with its secret message.