![]() ![]() Juan to his ranch with his nine millimeter firearm that had been given to him, and his son to the plateau with his huge, sixteen caliber, white powder, four lock Saint-Etienne shotgun. At times they would hunt a yacu-toro or-if lucky- a surucua and return triumphant. ![]() Now alone, the father smirks recalling the passion for hunting that young children share. After crossing the island of trees, the boy will follow the line of cactuses towards the marshland, looking for doves, toucans, or any kind of heron, like those that his friend Juan had discovered a few days back. ![]() In order to hunt in the forest-a game hunt-one needs more patience than his young son can muster. The father doesn’t even have to raise his head from his chores to follow his son’s path: already across the reddened path and walking upright to the forest past the opening in the grass field. And judging by his pure blue eyes, still sparkling with infantile joy, he looks even younger. Even though he is very tall for his age, he’s only thirteen. He knows that his son, taught from the youngest age proper habit and precaution when dealing in danger, can handle a firearm and hunt whatever he wishes. His father follows him a bit with his eyes and goes back to his daily chores, gleaming with joy over his young one. He balances the shotgun in his hand, smiles at his father, kisses him on the head and leaves. “Come back at lunchtime.” The father adds. “Yes, papa.” Responds the young child, while picking up the shotgun and filling his shirt pockets with cartridges, buttoning them closed carefully. “Be careful, little one.” He says to his son, summarizing in one phrase all of the observations of what could go wrong, and his son understanding perfectly. Like the sun, the heat, and the tranquil atmosphere, the father opens his heart to nature. Mother Nature, open to the skies, seems proud of herself. It’s a rough summer morning in Misiones, with all the sun, heat and tranquility that the season can provide. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |