Seguidamente it was with the dirty fingers of the coal of the firewood or its hair smelling to smoke, but that food had a very special flavor, the flavor of the patience, the lack of haste, flavor of mother affection. But as to conciliate a stove to the firewood with the speed of an Internet of 15 mega? I smell it of smoke in the hair and the dirty nails of coal, with the good appearance that charges in them in the work? A food that delays three hours to be prepared in a stove to the firewood, with the half hour of recess that we have to lunch? One comidinha with taste of the colony with the preference of our children for fast-food? When our mother made a cake, beaten by hand, went placing pitada of affection in each return that the spoon gave in the basin. It left a little of its energy in the foods that prepared. Today we eat cakes made by machines, beaten for strangers, of certain the energy found in the cake the metal is so cold how much beat that it, and its flavor it has taste of strange people, nothing to see with mother affection. those vegetables fresquinhas, harvested in horta with the vital energy of the land? Without agrotxicos, being days stops in the shelves of the supermarket. milk quentinho, just taken off of the foam cow, full, taken in the cup with a little of sugar and cinnamon? Today some children find that the cow is the petty cash where milk comes packed.

She is, the search for the progress took in them until the moon. I believe that now the search for health and balance in the light one in return to the start, the good and old stove to the firewood, where all the family seated around to be heated and to talk, the parents or the brothers oldest went counting histories, while they taught new, lies of principles, good ways, moral union, values, respect and many other things that already nor we remember more. If you lived this experience, with certainty you feel homesicknesses. What such to return to the start? He will be that still we can?