Canción De Madrugada

The trembling and sad voice of a bell tower must tell us. A flash of light and the cry of a heron that has woken up hungry and searches among wheat and oats for anything to fill its crop. Or maybe a rooster that sings in the yard: the night has died, and dawn breaks. While I sing, at dawn, the village still sleeps. The leaves of the neighboring alfalfa field have woken up wet. They shake off the dew while dawn arrives and the sun warms them, until they are cut down with a stroke of the sickle. They raise their wet and fresh heads. There is still time for them to fall to the ground. A child cries in the village and the lambs run around the outskirts. With a bag and a canteen on his back, with a stick in his hand, the shepherd and his watchdog leave, heading towards other pastures. Crossing rivers and cabins, they want to return to the mountains. They leave at dawn, it is necessary to leave early: the journey they must make is very long. The farmer is already coming towards the village, the bag empty and the cart full of red tomatoes and vegetables picked from his garden. The mule sweats, the cart creaks, and the man closes his eyes and dreams, while the sun rises from a bed of oaks, dazzling the little old ladies who, all withered, walk towards the church. And now I sing, at dawn. The village still sleeps.