Teodomiro is always dreaming about dragons. Some are as big as a house; others, as teensy as a pill bug. They live among us without our hardly ever seeing them. They get tangled up in our clothes, and sometimes we ourselves even stroll along inside them. Teodomiro dreams wherever he is. He daydreams while standing on a rock, sitting by a fountain, perching in the hollows of trees. He dreams about green dragons, red dragons, yellow dragons--about fierce, brutal dragons, but also about dragons as tame as puppies. On winter afternoons you can see dragons flying along like birds; others run like crazy. One night we saw a dragon in love with the moonlight. And we also know there are dragons hiding among the waves of the sea. Like we know that Teodomiro is a little old man now, and it won’t be long before he stops dreaming. That’s why every night I go to bed with the hope that a teeny little dragon will brush the edge of my dreams with his tail. In the meanwhile, Teodomiro still dreams and dreams about dragons: green dragons, red dragons...
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