Neighbors asked about his absence, but said nothing of what he did at night. In late autumn, the search routine, sat on a huge rock near his house, it was heading for an aged tree that arose between the halves. He lay exhausted, Don Quixote laid his head on the knees of the old. The cold of the night not allowed to sleep, her body was lethargic, felt a profound peace. I suddenly saw the light of the moon illuminated a little thing jumping smoothly and down toward the center of town. …
Tock … tick tock! He stood, hand on the head of Don Quixote, begging him not to move. Man and dog under the tree were statues of stone game. Only his eyes were dazzled the strange object until it was focused. It was a lump, dull, tight. Emitted a strong smell to life, full of life. He sensed that the stuff that was done was a web of disparate feelings and events that are so entangled that it would be impossible to undo.
All the knot was a symbol, a synthesis was the sum interwoven "Everything" that lived there. He returned to the house next to Don Quixote in silence abysmal, only heard in the distance the tac … tac … tac .. Never left to walk. Neighbors said he had gone mad. Eclipses occurred, the passage of comets, rain of stars, as causing the look of old, but he had lost interest in looking at the universe through the window. Now inquired with a look that enigmatic knot and tried to capture it on canvas, painted and painted. Over the months ended box, I was happy but did not stop a shudder quiver when I watched it was so thick, impregnable. One night, while doing chores late due to his obsession with paint, felt sirens. He left the house, was surprised to see the burning forest, the trees of the hills seemed enveloped in red flames, as coming from the center of the earth. A smell of incense filled the air, panicked, by the way cars were fast neighbors to help fight the fire. After some hours of waiting came to the road, the neighbors do not know what happens regresaban._ Don Ariel, was not a fire, is a reflection that comes from the red earth. She could not sleep, looked at the picture and felt the need to paint the background the burning forest, then came up with the knot could be so closed in that landscape Dante, as if emanating from a heat leading to the opening of tightly woven, and opened it. It was lifeless and dull as a half-open flower. He could not hang like his other works, wrapped with a lot of paper and finally a dark cloth bag. Put it in the basement, among the less desirable things. His face was somewhat ironic perversity, was a secret ceremony, Don Quixote was only a witness. Mysteriously, after that night, never to be heard by the city and around the chilling tac … tac … tac …