WHAT THE WIND SPUMES This dawn woke me a dream of a memory of almost 40 years. His eyes were full of tears and a sense of wasted time gone, like scenes that fade into a dense fog and disappear.

WHAT THE WIND SPUMES      This dawn woke me a dream of a memory of almost 40 years. His eyes were full of tears and a sense of wasted time gone, like scenes that fade into a dense fog and disappear. They were companions of the Preuniversity.    With their blue skirts uniforms and the ribbons that adhered to them according to the year, girls and boys paraded as they were in their youth.    I was on the steps of the Pre and watched as some of the friends and friends walked towards the mist and vanished.    I could identify Arlen or Carlota my beautiful friend on whose balcony of her house we discussed Freud and Heminguey, the Cisneros with her eternal vigilant mother - tall with adorable legs - Margarita, Izet, discreet and intelligent, Laila the crazy, Nelly Fernandez Mafú with her beautiful hieratic face whom I loved in silence, Mechi, my friend Loforte, my other partner Philip, black and tall, the male Pilots and others.    Then I began to reflect on the dream. It was the scene of our glorious youth gone forever. From our best stage of life in which existence seemed like a lawn where we wallowed among flowers full of happiness.   Now those times remain in the memory. Scattered throughout the world, my companions still suffer the tearing of exile even though they have already settled with their families in new lands.   That's why he cried. For the times gone that dragged me to a glorious past that the wind carried away.   We were so happy and we didn't realize.                         DR      ORLAND VICENTE ÁLVAREZ

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