The Climax

And, with the invincible desire of youth, and with its indefinable need for possession, he wouldn’t pursue the brilliant delusion. And, occasionally, butterfly stopped to mock the boy, voluptuously introduced its trunk in the calyx of the flowers and lovingly BATEA wings. But, at the moment the boy approached, gasping for hope, the butterfly is left to the breeze, and the breeze carried it is, light as a perfume and so passed, in that senseless persecution, minutes and more minutes, hours and more hours, days and more days, years and more years, and insect and man reached the top of a mountain that was not anything other than the climax of life. Chasing the butterfly, the teenager had made man. There, the man was stopped a moment to consider whether it would be better to go back, because the slope of the mountain that was left by lower seemed very arid. Below, in the foothills of the mountain, contrary to the other side where, in delightful parterres, rich orchards and green parks, grew fragrant flowers, plants rare and fruit-laden trees; on the slopes of the mountain, we said, stretched a big square space surrounded by walls, walked into which a door open without interruption, and where not grew more than stones, some laid on the floor, the other upright. But the butterfly began to flutter, more dazzling than ever, in the eyes of man, and took the direction of the enclosure, following the slope of the mountain. And, strange thing!, though that so long race had to have fatigued the old, because, by his gray hair, could recognize as such foolish corridor, its passage, as it progressed, became faster; It could only be explained by the decline of the mountain. And the butterfly was always kept the same distance; only that, as the flowers had disappeared, the insect is posing thorny Thistles, or bare branches of trees. The old, panting, not stopped chasing it.