In the afternoon prior to the preparation of the oil lamps and the candles that would give us light during the night,the women of the village would go to the well for water the one that was at the edge of the village at the exit to el tamarindo near the house of don Santos y dona Maxima the one who kill the jaguar and displayed the hide in the living room of his house.
You could hear the crickets and the cicadas in the distance the sign that the day is ending and the night was beginning.
Mothers were boiling the corn to have it ready with the rooster's call in the early morning to take it to the mill were everybody shared information about the happenings in the village.
The beach was clean and full of treasures like small crabs and lots of drift wood that showed the wear of mount's of sailing and that would serve as a fire wood in my grand mother kitchen.
The hours passed slowly or not at all because nobody used a watch the sun marked the time and the rooster's call stared the day, a summer morning that you could smell and almost drink like water of a thousand tastes and smells a simple life full of magic inherited from our ancestors who live in adobe houses with gardens of tzempasuchilt.
Death did not exist it was only a passage to a better life.
The respect for the trees huge and strong and benevolent like gentle giants full of life and elves.
It is impossible to imaging a time when the hot dry forest smelling of decay was green a time when you could see black iguanas wherever you looked a good time to hunt for ancient treasures that no one had discovered for many years and that promised of kilos of gold and a life without worry and the power to influence the lives of others and convert paradise into something very ordinary like a house with a pool and air conditioning.