A couple of years ago, I realized that I was going to be forced from my home on the shore of the Seno Reloncaví and would have to go back to the United States, at least for some years.
The idea filled me with a terrible sadness, and I imagined how it would be to remember the full moon on the water as a little blanquillo swims in the silver light.
And I saw that the memory was fragile and would crack or fade each time it was brought into the mind's eye.
And then I saw that even the face of my daughter would be broken like this glass until I could go back to my home.
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