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'Where I was born, the countrified on September is yellow and sometimes orange, the thistles are dry. Everything is Sun and colour during sunset. Only the holm oak keeps the green that fade with the field. And beyond the mountains.
Still it’s summer but you can feel that kind of melancholy of the shorter days. Dogs walks ahead. Under the burning Sun they run and play between the heath, rockrose and bramble golden by the Sun. Now and them they are coming to get our pets but in the twinkling of an eye only the shadows remains.
It’s their walk and they enjoy it without considering that the present never comes back, the time is finite. They are the one who guide us from the red rocks path to the highest point of La Rinconada. Far away there is the Moon, full.
It’s their walk, The dog’s walk. For us is almost Fall.'
Self Published
Hardcover, spiralbound
44 pages
170 x 230 mm
