Gari eta goroldiozko

He was up early and the road was starting to get a little long. His eyes were burnt, and in the most accurate definition of a self-portrait possible, in the rearview mirror, behind the dark glasses, time continued to carve the cracks in the corners of his eyes. He was tired. Always starting to get tired. Wheat and moss, the two landscapes merge in this first-person narrative. A woman who has turned 50 years old and has realized that she is older than her father is shown, one Tuesday evening, on her way home from the cinema; Wednesday mornings, on the other hand, in the folds of time and space of a car trip. Two greyhounds at the traffic lights, a tanned woman with curly hair at the bends of the road, the overflowing sea, containers, fetuses, olive trees, artificial hedges and the poetics of mathematics. The mind of the present and the question of memory in Anari Alberdi Santesteban's first book.