Of our dwelling repicar of the bells heard with clearness, each one with different sound, however if alternating, however repicando all in set. Magical Umasonoridade that still echoes in my memory. These sounds transmitted messages codified for ' ' universality of msica' '. Some of them had been interpreted by my mother, who I also eat we if embevecia with those harmonious resources. We knew, for example, when falecia somebody important thing, for the strokes of a bell of a murmuring bell, of serious and trimmed sound, during all the day, as tears rolling one to one. When the deceased one was less important, this repicar age of some minutes, only while fnebre drained cortejo. I include enters the reminiscncias more gifts of the time where I lived in that paradise, firm and glad repicar of those bells, all end of afternoon. A beautiful, hipnotizante noise, that it coincided with the last sun rays scintillating on tame waters of the Old Chico.
In this instant my mother set of foot, my father was uncovered, postava the straw hat on the chest and both assumed contrito semblante. It was the hour of the Bird Maria. Magical minutes that if they completed with disappearing of the sun, as if devorado for waters of the river, persisting for some time an aureole live coal color that to the few also if esvaa. A indescritvel scene. Lusco-fusco appreciated to the edges of ' ' River San Francisco and under the noise of the bell tower of the Convent of San Francisco ' '. That spectacle populated my mind with mysteries had intrigued that me per many years: because the birds flied in bandos, some until tracing geometric figures? Because groups flied upstream, others, river below, while others were embrenhavam in the bushes? That disorganization was what me he seemed was revivida years later, when started to live in great cities.