Taking a walk between boards and carriolas of fruits of the Municipal Market and streets of the center of Campinas, suddenly I saw me dived in aromas and gostos of infancy. The strong heat seemed to accent cheiros of cool fruits and in them I see miraculous secrets of the creation. As much variety, color, I smell and flavor, even so the prescription is almost the same one: seed germinated in the fertile land; water; air; removed nutrient of the ground; leaf swallowing sun and transpirando dew, carrying through the magic to breathe, but in contrast to us, human beings, with being able to renew air. The patient wait for the flowers and at last the transformation in delicious fruits. In the trip for the wonderful world I do not save none of the directions (vision, olfato, hearing, tato and palate). Mature greens or, Oranges shine to the sun, make to the aroma to feel me in the mouth cooling taste of the juice frozen so welcome in the sultry afternoon.

Until it seems that I see gominhos in wild ballet in the cup that transpira cooling drops. Nor of in time thinking very and they invade the nostrils other candies odors of Sleeves, Goiabas and Carambolas mature; of the Pineapple amarelinho, so appetizing, certainly honey in slices. The colorful and deliciously cheirosas Grapes seem cooling oases in the end of afternoon of desert. Then, I see myself in immense fair-free of infancy, that almost does not exist more. The Cashew of I smell irresistible and of colors that go of the yellow to the red, passing for the orange. Roms, Damson plums, Jabuticabas, Peaches, Khaki, Figs, Abacates, Bananas, Pitangas, Cherries and Plums. Cheiros marcantes of Maracujs, Pears and Strawberries. How to forget the red Apple bought by mine worried mother after I almost to faint in the fair of my infancy? I come back to the Mercado of Century XXI, but without obtaining to misguide of the past and a scene, with color and smell in particular, makes to remember my father.

The family asks for the broth of sugar cane with much ice. I feel the aroma of the broth of odd green draining for repletos ice cups. For little I do not speak if the family does not go to ask for crayon stuffed with piece of white cheese badly melted. She seems that I see myself in the company of my father, in the Bar of Pachola, that exhibited as trophy the photo of mine will xar, the player Edson Arantes of the Birth, world-wide known as Skin, King of the Soccer. Before leaving the Mercado, I surrender it more delicious temptation of the afternoon of summer. Red and with aspect than more cooling, I see the Watermelon and I do not think two times about asking for to juice of the fruit geladinho and refreshing my perpetual soul of moleque well.