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    Sometimes they hold white pages and other times yellow ones, some are light and others are heavy and old with an infinity of ants crawling amongst crinkled leaves pierced by moths.

    -BOOKS - were, are and will be the vehicles transporting us through time,quickly abolishing and absolving the clouds of the past, future and present.

    Reading can be such an easy way to justify time past. Time flies by us anyway, but what an exquisite way to justify it.

    Starting with the drawings on caves' walls, the desire to write and express thoughts began early on, as a dawdling fire ready to lead humanity towards enlightenment. Myself, I bow in front of all the books, like a pauper before a chest full of treasures, forgotten somewhere under the sand, covered in a sediment of indifference and laziness.

    Just like s a small and insignificant creek later becomes the mighty Mississippi flowing furiously into the ocean, the books I love start with a gentle prick to my stream of consciousness only to blossom later in the splendor of my intellect within my Universe.

    He was standing next to me in the Greyhound Bus waiting room. I asked him if he would like to read one of my magazines to pass the time.

    "I can’t,” he replied.

    I remained stunned for a minute. Well, in my heart I was suddenly outlining a human life somewhere in the country, laden with the sweat of the earth, which may never have had the opportunity to learn the art of reading.

    He looked at me with a quiet and noble yet primitive curiosity: his rough hands built, along with many others, the freedom I can enjoy today.

    I felt sorry for him: he did not have access to my chockfull of treasures.

    Oh,how he would have enjoyed it! I could read his clean dreams in the radiance of his deep eyes. He had built an alphabet instead out of the turf, and as writing tools , he used the sharp blade of his plow, the prongs of his forks  and the steel of his shovels.

    He learned counting with the clouds and stars in the sky, the earth with flowers and streams.

    "I cannot!” What a mysterious simplicity hide these words with their silent pain.The countdown going along with cattle, days, nights, corn, and fruit coming as a heavenly reward, was the elementary math supporting his universe.

 (Oh,anonymous man, was there a need for you to be born blind in order for me to see?)