In the wee hours of the night, when everything seems asleep and only the rude shouts are heard the drovers idle fueling their animals, farmers say that there, by the river, toward and away intervals, stopping at backwaters fresh serving of watery oxen and horses nearby, a plaintive voice attracts the attention of travelers.
It is a woman's voice sobbing, roaming the river banks looking for something, something that has been lost and never find it. Frightens the youngsters who have heard, told by the grandmother withered lips, the touching story of the woman who lives in the pastures, breaking the silence of the night with his eternal groan.
It was a poor peasant whose adolescence had slipped amid quiet listening welcome the cheerful birds that were swinging on the branches of fig trees. Left his bed when the rooster heralded the dawn, and headed for the river to fetch water with their earthen jars, waking, rising, cows resting on the road.
I was happy loving nature; but once we reached the hacienda of the family pattern in the summer, the beautiful peasant could see the luxury and coquetry of the young ladies who came from San José. He made the comparison between the charms of those women and their own; saw that his body was as supple as the one, which had a pretty face, a smile trastornadora, and devoted himself to imitarías.
As was industrious, the patron took his service and brought to the capital where, soon after, was corrupted by their partners and great vices that are in capitals, and the degree of debauchery in which they are absorbed by metropolises. He was seduced by a young man in those classrooms tone given to their culture and often completely drunk at dawn houses tolerance. When he felt he was going to be a mother, retired "from the capital and returned to her parents. Unbeknownst to his family gave birth to a beautiful little girl who threw quickly to the place where the river was deeper, in a moment of failure and fear of facing a parent or a society that acted that way. Then he went crazy and, according to the farmers, repentance makes now wander along the banks of streams always looking for the body of her daughter will never find.
This sad legend, every day we see more often than ever, due to the growth of society, they are no longer rivers, but the latrines and septic tanks where respect for life has gone to another level, we suggests that we are required to further educate our children, to avoid regret and be more consistent with what surrounds us. Since that time, the traveler hears the river banks when in silent night through the forest, plaintive, heartbreaking and terrible birds that stop the blood. Moaning is searching for her daughter ...