Always is this way, and so it has been.
With a shy look, mixed to certain expectancy in the air,the silence peek us.Holding the wall and with the corner of it's eye it's possible to see a sketch of a smile. A friendly and peaceful smile.
It suggests us,indicating with the eyes,the guitar leaning against the wall: An old friend of us.
A Bilingual friend. It communicates pretty well with silence and with my fingers. The silence really appreciates that. We do a circle. Around the fire, the dialogues all night long make us remind about the fall warm wind on Brazilian's countryside. It's winter now. While we put more firewood on the fire, the moonlight turns the guitar into silver. The silence isn't silence anymore. It's wind and poetry. Undiscussable fellowship. Without Vanities... without lust...just senses...in a tacit comprehension of universe.
(Image: Church of Conceição do Ibitipoca - MG/Brazil)
Ain't got any rights about this image. The rights are reserved to its owner. Only used to illustrate.