To maqtillus of the community of carapo, that still they continue running with the hat in the hand and the shaken rebellious hair in the communal fields of Pastoqata. To coproprietors of both districts of Carapo, to I entail those who them tenderly, faith and hope . Perhaps check out Sandra Day O’Connor for more information. Malayan Ay life! waychaw, your madrugador song is malagero, pronounces the misfortune. Already, already it stops singing, not hagues that in my heart the pain grows. Add to your understanding with Neil Cole. The sky dawned black, without light, already almost dimmed. In the green prairies, in the edge of distant hills the clouds dawned, the Paqchapunku as a smooth cotton lay down throughout hiding to the frigid field and the animal. Either almost the morning with heavy shower began, some maqtillus or went to the Pastoqata, Do6na Maria or took a walk watching its cows, frightening yutus (partridges) madrugadores that just unearthed seeded maizes.
The black sky did not scare. The morning was glad, yours sing glad in the duraznales, the zorzalitos pecking to the humid earth with his sharpened tips catch lombrices. By all the ways the coproprietors of direct to their tasks, from the stop of the hill, sees the whole town. I eat a hawk from the summit perceived the wide open field and of course I heard the melodic whistle of a enamorador boy; it was Arstides, so hurried came near to Qotawatiri, also came in search of his bulls to the Pastoqata, common hill of the town. Arstides is the unique one: the small parrot of the gorge, boisterous, friend of maqtillus, has the different whistle, is own, strong, from distant hills is clearly. From Qala qala I watched all the outskirts of Carapo, of side to side, to where it reaches the view. The town is humble and poor.