The work remains.
Immeasurable.
And the echo of his voice and of his laughter in the meetings of friends in his house in Alcazarén.
His intelligence.
His lucidity to understand the things of the world.
That they are always the same.
His talent.
His sensitivity to
count and sympathize with the pain of men
.
Which is always the same.
And there is also the uneasiness of knowing that he wrote it shortly before he died.
In an unpublished notebook, Evocations and Presences, published now (November 9) by Confluencias.
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