Platero and I

                          

Platero

Platero is small, fluffy, soft; so soft on the outside that one would say he is all cotton, that he carries no bones. Only the jet-dark mirrors of his eyes are hard as two scarabs of black crystal.

I let him loose and he runs to the meadow; warmly, hardly touching them, he brushes his nose against the tiny pink, sky-blue and golden yellow flowers….I call him sweetly: “Platero?” and he comes to me at a gay little trot as though he were laughing, I do not know within what fancy world of jingles.

He eats whatever I give him. He likes oranges, tangerines, muscatel grapes, all amber, purple figs with their crystalline tiny drops of honey….

He is tender and cuddly, as a little boy, as a little girl…but inside he is strong and dry as a stone. When I ride him on Sunday through the last alleyways of the town, the men from the fields, dressed neatly and slow moving, stand still watching him.

“He’s got steel.”

Steel, yes. Steel and moon silver at the same time.

                                                                                                    By Juan Ramón Jiménez

Our works about "Platero and I" 

Because....   It was first published 100 years ago.