A homeless woman lives on the streets. Nobody knows her true story, a story of love, abused, loneliness...
...The little house roofs from la Perla were wet with the ocean mist. In the poor neighborhood the old buildings were made out of gray concrete, and the green and blue painted houses were almost falling into the sea that surrounded them ... those years printed on the stone walls surrounding the San Juan of the poor and the San Juan of the rich. Adelaida would sit by the shore near la Perla every afternoon. She used to wet her feet and her face to play and talk with the ocean waves, the only friends that still caressed her wilted skin.
“Once I loved a man… he would say I was so pretty, used to caress my curls, and kiss my neck. He said: ‘I adore the way you smell, a female smell, like country flowers ... my wild flower.’ And he would kiss my lips…. I was a lady ... I used to sing in the ‘Three Kings Celebrations’, and the ‘Misa de Gallo,’ the early morning mass. My widow mother used to take care of me... but I wanted to love, even though she had different advice.”
“He said he loved me, and asked me to run away with him on a bright sunny afternoon ... that he would marry me, to give me his name, that I wouldn’t have a need for anything. I left my home. But before leaving, I left a letter: a letter without any value, a letter that could not ease a great suffering. He took me to a house on top of a mountain, and there, without close friends or relatives, I lived heaven and hell in my own flesh...
What causes America's mainstream media to fear and try to destroy a group of artists and their work? What happens when such a creative movement grows in strength and threatens media's bottom line? Why would extremists find it necessary to take acti
May I offer you a Round the World Cruise of a lifetime for the price of a novel?
Not only do the seas roll on but two romances,a death at sea, uncovered past lives, history uncovered in Brazil, caves in Australia, poetry in Senegal, the Lux Mundi
