The fleeting evening lights vanish in the mirror of the river. It is a carpeted stained-glass window where the herons moan at the refulgent mutation of the lights in the infinite water screen of the Orinoco.

There is the Orinoco River, I have arrived at the port of La Ceiba. I have come driven, pulled by the magnetic thread, to be here. The sun dissipated in the distance. The waters descended to bring out

Today my algorithm closes, walking behind the soft sunset on the Orinoco. I decide to look for another natural setting to search for new territory. The temperature is in the thirties. The slight turn of

The fisherman moves stealthily, in his canoe towards the distance, in search of prey. The fire in the sky roasts the mirror of the Orinoco. El pescador se desplaza sigilosamente, en su canoa hacia lo lejos,

Seduced by the flow of the fabulous vibrations of the visual end of the day, I let myself be carried away by the precious colourings of the snatches projected in the mirror of the Orinoco. They are the