Magnolia street was entered by an archway. Was narrow, While he was in the midst of it, extending his arms to the sides, could touch both walls. Then, after a gate was biased to be lost in the maze of other streets and squares that made up that old neighborhood. At the end of the street only had a small door is always closed, and looked as if the only way out over the houses, into a blazing blue sky. In a corner of the street was the balcony, which could climb, almost effortlessly, from the ground, and beside him on the garden wall, gushing with branches covering all the huge magnolia . Among the bright and sharp leaves perched in spring, with the subtle mystery of the virgin snow flakes and flowers. That magnolia was always more to me than a beautiful reality : it was estimated the image of life. Although sometimes wish otherwise, freer, more into the mainstream of men and things, I knew it was precisely that section of the tree live, that flourish without witnesses, who gave such a high quality beauty. His own zeal consumed him, and flowed in the desert a pure flowers as unacceptable sacrifice at the altar of a god.
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