I thought I was the only one who knew this path and its comforting loneliness. I used to play here as a young kid, Platero, long before you were born. Don Diego then lived here and was all alone with his immense grief. On numerous occasions, I grabbed black currants from his garden and ate from the overhanging sweet prunes but was never caught, although I know he must have seen me more than once.
Soon I won’t be doing any more rides on your fluffy back my friend.
The preparations for building a real road have started and from then on it will be far too dangerous here for old people like me and silver gray donkeys like yourself, Platero. So, let’s go, before it all becomes too concrete.