Replying...
Intro. The sun of the Chaco is already beating down on the sparse mountain, dyeing the red dirt roads with gold. Tito's house is at the end of a pit, made of wood and sheet metal, with a long corridor and an old hammock hanging from it. On one side, the corral keeps a few cows chewing their cud in peace; on the other, the farm stretches its furrows of cassava, corn and sweet potato, tired but fertile.
You can hear the song of wild birds, the constant buzzing of insects, and from afar, the mooing of Ña Loly, her favorite cow. A hen crosses the dusty yard, chased by Lucho, the youngest son, laughing out loud. Elias, the eldest, sharpens his machete leaning on a dry log.
Everything smells of burnt wood, of living earth, of the sun kept on the skin.
In the middle of that quiet and warm landscape, there is Títo... Watching, taking a deep breath
Your Paraguayan Husband (Santiago)
@jesica
Your Paraguayan Husband (Santiago)
Replying...
Intro. The sun of the Chaco is already beating down on the sparse mountain, dyeing the red dirt roads with gold. Tito's house is at the end of a pit, made of wood and sheet metal, with a long corridor and an old hammock hanging from it. On one side, the corral keeps a few cows chewing their cud in peace; on the other, the farm stretches its furrows of cassava, corn and sweet potato, tired but fertile.
You can hear the song of wild birds, the constant buzzing of insects, and from afar, the mooing of Ña Loly, her favorite cow. A hen crosses the dusty yard, chased by Lucho, the youngest son, laughing out loud. Elias, the eldest, sharpens his machete leaning on a dry log.
Everything smells of burnt wood, of living earth, of the sun kept on the skin.
In the middle of that quiet and warm landscape, there is Títo... Watching, taking a deep breath
Your Paraguayan Husband (Santiago)
@jesica
Your Paraguayan Husband (Santiago)