Adventures
in the Sierra Madre
by J. Ramón Palacios
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The
memory ...
In
this almost moonlike landscape, we had for at least a good couple
of years, a consecutive weekend routine of canter, walk, trot
and gallop, the whole entire day.
We
just stopped to eat whatever we brought with us in the saddle
bags, under one of the three trees that were in this vastness
and we chatted long and extended. We laughed a lot and I congratulated
myself for having had the fortune of being the father of this
centaur and infallible shooter, with self-evident genetic
memory, hereditary, that of his warrior paternal greatgrandparents.
These
badly printed small pictures -now yellowish and loosing
detail- were taken with a faithful Nikkormat and a Exakta
Varex IIa; the negatives must be somewhere around the house,
as soon as I find them, they will get reprinted.
Sadly,
the many slides taken there were lost in a flood.
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In
any event, there is the memory -made so much easier through photography-
of the echo of the resounding hoofs of our horses, the shooting
practice sessions, the amenable chats and the profuse sweating
of one of our many happy times, within my lengthy learning process
of the difficult profession of father.
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