Berta-Isabel Cuadrado Alvarez' Creativity

I remember the days of baking bread. Mom busy kneading Loaves for a month. Delicious muffins smelling of anise! I remember that mom sat me up on the bunks full of wheat. Drawn crossed squares Where we played at three in a row. I remember the rain outside Pitter-pattered on the slate roof top. My hot and dry feet inside my clogs, Wet when splashing puddles. What I mostly remember It's the smell of freshly baked brown bread, The softness of Mom's worn apron, and Her sweat running down from her forehead. Spanish version: Recuerdo los días del pan

Life awakening. Unwinding clouds lifting. Fading voices early rising. Little birds nesting, Fluttering and singing. My cats stretching. In the valley bellow, dogs are barking. The smoke goes up uncoiling. The smell of wet earth At dawn still staying. Sunlight the shadows hiding. The spring resurgence winning To the sleepy winter. In my soul Hope again rising.

Pulling the USB out of her computer she thought - I want this more than anything in this world. She phoned. -Please Rob, come by my house today. I can wait for you. I'm not sleepy. Slowly she dressed in flowered pattern silk pyjamas and put it on a long robe. She watched the sun going down. It did not hurt her. That would continue happening without worrying the star who could see it. Without nostalgia feeling for the beings who had seen it rising and submerging every day. The bell rang. - What's wrong? Why so much hurry? - Enter Rob. Sit down and listen to me, please! Take this is the USB with my memoirs. - But you told me yesterday morning that you were going to rewrite them again. - I have changed my mind. There will be no more revisions. I want them to be published as they are. You know I've been working on them for years, written and rewritten them. That they have been the center of my life during these last ten y