Alava La Riojan

I asked myself like would have killed that one male tuna, with the fog that did and without dog. Knowing better nor to imagine it him. During kilometers, being useful ruling silence, dedicates to me to meditate on the years last through these places. They assaulted childhood memories to me and any object served to me as reference of the past, happy past, in this land of Alava La Rioja. The star king was able to break through and for a moment blinded seen my. The image was peculiar, brilliance illuminated with power the direction of movement, while, to my backs a off-white curtain took step to the thickness of the fog.

Immediately I included/understood the meaning of that one phenomenon, somebody communicated the entrance to me in another scene, Vallobera. The vine shoots of the stocks, ghosts than were a great harvest, still humid, received with I retire the light of the day. The slopes and the precipices absorbed the energy warming up the Earth and the deep roots. A plate in the ground reverberated and it signaled to me that woke up my curiosity. Initials JSP, of a well-known warehouse of the town, remembered that one announcement to me of television, young person amply preparation. Perhaps it would mean that.

At the top of a small hill it emphasized a shack constructed with stones, place of defense and shelter of the water and the hail of unexpected storms. By its narrow and small door, an exceptional brightness projected from its interior. A treasure was on the verge of being shortage, I raised by ribazo lofty, thymes and hawthorns marked my ascent, cracks and Earth scars, small channels improvised of riadas, favored the fixation of the boots. A bottle of golden liquid lay on you soothe of colors, while butterflies of yellow wings were shaken around revoloteando. White wine of the Gods, grape fruit viura, with race, came harmonic and aromatic there are where them. Caudalia, was the name for the occasion. And when it arranged to me to open it and to spill his elixir within my throat, a deafening one crujido coming from the heights paralyzed my muscles. The blue one of the sky cracked, a hand, that took associate a key, appeared and took hold with force the neck, just below the neck. In abrir and closing of eyes, and following a wake cloudy, the bottle disappeared. In the atmosphere it was an aroma to flowers wild and to orange blossom, blue the celestial one was uniformed and there I remained, seated, confused, and with the desire of to have proven that one delicious Alava La Riojan target.