A cronopio runs across a solitary flower in the middle of the fields.
At first he’s about to pull it out,
but thinks its an unnecessary cruelty
and gets down on his knees beside it and plays lightheartedly with the flower, to know:he caresses the petals, he blows on it to make it dance, buzzes like a bee, smells its perfume, and finally he lies down under the flower and falls asleep enveloped in a great peace.
The flower thinks: “He’s like a flower.”
Historias de Cronopios y Famas – Julio Cortazar
brilsainz liked this
an-insane-balance liked this
tobintobin-blog liked this
gmm-shots liked this
arremeteviajera liked this
goghsblog liked this mementocor liked this
bonvivantmeraki reblogged this from annyesco-blog
mundodecronopios liked this
annyesco-blog posted this
