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Walking in my memories. We used to walk hand in hand, after our jobs we always had a meeting point. He works in a publishing house, he is the loyal employee that everyone has something to say in his favor. Me, I write... I sit at my window, at the top of a two-story house, my room faces the sun in the mornings and I can admire its beauty every day. And in the afternoons I only have to move to the back of my room and I see the sun as it leaves the mountain, always with the glimpse of its multiple color range in the infinite. I had my house built away from the village. Looking for the serenity of the forest and the majestic of the infinite sky, which allows me to be inspired in my next book. My mind only harbors a passion for fantasy. I create all the unimaginable tales for some of the readers who usually follow me, I’m Rose and I love to create stories.

My dear Paul understands me and just in the evening we usually meet near the creek next to my house. We got used to seeing each other away from the hustle and bustle of the city once we stopped seeing each other at the coffee shop in town. It was a very crowded place and instead of delighting in our witticisms we had to share with many acquaintances who did not leave us a moment for our meeting. So it was one day when we could no longer see each other in the village café that we felt the need to do it like a couple of teenagers in love. We loved to hold hands and talk about our future plans, like where we would feel more comfortable to live. I told him that in a few months I prefer the solitude of my house here in the green forest, it just unleashes my full creative potential, but we could make our home in the village. He is so kind, he is always willing to compromise to make me as happy as possible, but what he doesn't know is that I am happy with him. Where he is, there I want to be, he complements me, he gives peace to my rebellious spirit always in search of creative activity. He stops my wild woman impulses, raised in the best of cities but destined to appease his fury in the tranquility of the forest. Paul is a hard-working man. He always fights for his ideals, he’s free to make all the decisions in his company because his father, the owner, has left him in charge of everything. My family lived here in this wonderful forest, they eventually let me buy this small property very close to theirs, they knew of my deep love for this place since I was a child. I grew up running down this path to the creek. My neighbors, two families in houses on the side of the road, have also been here since the early days.

I am no longer a young girl, I am 34 years old but I am still a dreamer. Every day we walk back to the house, my Paul and me. We wave to our neighbors, they too enjoy watching the sun set in the afternoon from their terraces. Paul and I are thinking of taking a trip after I finish the book I am writing, right now it’s a story about the enchanted forest with all the magical creatures in it. When we finish it we will take a trip to several island paradises. Paul hasn't been on vacation for several years and I have plenty of time off after finishing this story and getting ideas again to start the other one. I arrive at the creek and there is Paul as always waiting for my arrival, his hugs and his loving kisses are not long in coming. He makes me feel like the luckiest woman in the world. And our interrogations of the day begin, how has your day been, how are you feeling today, what are you planning for tomorrow? And so a few hours go by until we return home - he always accompanies me but he only stays a little longer and then he goes back to the village and in the meantime we continue to enjoy our life as it is now. As we pass by our neighbors, the first ones always leave a comment of *“How are you? How was your walk?”* I just smile and raise my arm, holding his hand in greeting and I go on. I know they mumble but I don't listen to them... what can that old couple mumble about, alone on the terrace? Hahaha. *"Matilda, what will Rose do walking alone every day down that road? She comes back so happy! As if she's recharged with energy to keep going.  Poor Rose, I truly wonder what goes through that creative mind!".* *"I don't know Peter, I can't imagine what happens in that mind of hers. I only know that she waves as she passes both going and coming back and raises her arm as if signaling some prize, but it's always the same... she walks alone…"* Thank you dear readers and sponsors for always being there giving me your support.

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