🎶🎵 I come from where there is a river, tobacco and cane fields 🎶🎵 (ENG-ESP)

Have a good and blessed day everyone.

In Cuba it is customary to say that Wednesday is the navel of the week, the “crossed” day and it is even jokingly said to someone who is in the middle of the road or hindering some action: you are worse than Wednesday.

However, today this is not the case. On this Wednesday I can only give thanks for living a moment with you, in the little green corner of Greenzone. Above all, because I intend to infect you with sweetness and nostalgia with my post.

I tell you that, at the back of the building where I live, there is a very large lot, without houses or buildings. The entire land is covered by a cane field so large that it takes up the entire block. It doesn't belong to anyone, apparently, because in more than a year that I've been living here, no one has ever shown up and to keep the weeds under control, the neighbors themselves pay a gardener to clean the lot from time to time.

When looking at it in contrast with the buildings that surround it, it seems somewhat rebellious and at the same time tender. In the background stands a coconut tree that shelters macaws, pigeons and parrots among its leaves. It is a festival of colors to see them arrive just at sunset.

I can't deny that, when I look out my kitchen window, that little piece of cane field with its coconut bush in the background reminds me too much of my Cuba. So, using my best expressions of “nerdy manipulation,” I asked my husband to cut and peel some canes, in that inevitable need to evoke flavors and smells. Homeland.

And he, who usually pampers me with the same patience and love that one pampers one's children, took a wide, sharp knife, opened the back door of the patio that leads to the sugarcane field, and cut and peeled two thin canes for me.

Once peeled, he washed them well and handed them to me smiling, as if he knew he was an accomplice in my pranks.

The canes were thin and incredibly sweet. It resembled the flavor of the Media Luna cane that we know in Cuba, only it did not have the thickness that characterizes that variety.

I couldn't devour them without first showing them how, after so much time, I was able to feel the unforgettable sweetness of a sugar cane in my mouth again.

I leave you a tight hug and a sweet kiss. We see each other out there, in any wave of hive that makes us coincide, once again, in this little green corner.

This post was written without the use of AI. The images belong to me and the banners were designed in Canva.

English is not my native language, so I used Google’s free translator to make this translation. I apologize for any possible grammatical and agreement errors.

Thank you for visiting my blog. I hope you liked it and that you come back soon. I will be waiting for you. ¿Will you come back?

Buenos y bendecidos días tengan todos.

En Cuba se acostumbra a decir que el miércoles es el ombligo de la semana, el día “atravesado” y hasta se le dice en tono de broma, a alguien que está en medio del camino o entorpeciendo alguna acción: estás peor que le miércoles.

Sin embargo, hoy no es el caso. En este miércoles solo puedo dar gracias de vivir un momento junto a ustedes, en el rinconcito verde de Greenzone. Sobre todo, porque de dulce y nostalgia pretendo contagiarlos con mi post.

Les cuento que, al fondo del edificio donde vivo, hay un solar muy grande, sin casas ni construcciones. A todo el terreno lo cubre un cañaveral tan grande que se toma de largo toda la cuadra. No pertenece a nadie, al parecer, pues en más de un año que llevo viviendo aquí, jamás se ha personado nadie y para mantener la hierba mala controlada, los propios vecinos le pagan a algún jardinero para que limpie el solar, de vez en cuando.

Al mirarlo haciendo contraste con las edificaciones que lo rodean, me parece un tanto rebelde y al mismo tiempo tierno. Al fondo se levanta una mata de coco que resguarda entre sus pencas guacamayos, palomas y cotorritas. Es una fiesta de colores verlas llegar justo al atardecer.

No puedo negarles que, cuando miro por la ventana de mi cocina, ese pedacito de cañaveral con su mata de coco al fondo, me recuerda demasiado a mi Cuba. Así que, usando mis mejores expresiones de “manipulación ñoña”, pedí a mi esposo que cortara y pelara algunas cañas, en esa necesidad inevitable de evocar sabores, olores. Patria.

Y él, que suele consentirme con la misma paciencia y amor que se consienten a los hijos, tomó un cuchillo ancho y afilado, abrió la puerta trasera del patio que da al cañaveral y corto y peló para mí dos cañas delgaditas.

Una vez peladas, las lavó bien y me las entregó sonriendo, como quien sabe que fue cómplice de mis travesuras.

Las cañas eran delgaditas e increíblemente dulces. Se asemejaba al sabor de la caña Media Luna que conocemos en Cuba, solo que no tenía el grosor que caracteriza a esa variedad.

No podía devorarlas sin antes dejarles la evidencia de cómo, después de tanto tiempo, pude volver a sentir en mi boca el inolvidable dulzor de una caña de azúcar.

Les dejo un abrazo apretadito y un beso dulce. Nos leemos por ahí, en cualquier ola de hive que nos haga coincidir, una vez más, en este rinconcito verde.

Este post fue redactado sin el uso de IA. Las imagenes me pertenecen y los banners fueron diseñados en Canva.

Gracias por pasar por mi blog. Deseo que te haya gustado y que regreses pronto. Estaré esperando por ti. ¿Volverás?

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