D fter the bridge of the cutting of the forest is an open wound on this mantle of branches that barely stretch into the sky. One step, another and another and still return the dense forest, the man is not here yet. As a thorn in the flesh so steeped in this valley.
I strongly feel this climb. A space within crop wild to me. The sore muscles, tension of the mystical solitude. At the end of the spur the forest thins out, leaving space for herbs, kidnapped from their scent I realize I'm alone.
Dominated by this piece of cloudless sky I get pierced by glittering swords. On a chair of stone contemplate a beautiful landscape and unique. There is a breath of wind. I get lost in this enchanted valley covered by far too long and now finally I'm here, sitting on the spur east of the Timpone Viggianello. It looks dramatically in the Valley of Caballa, but how much effort to get this far, and how much they still have to make, are just the beginning of my ascent. Allocation to a sea of \u200b\u200bsky, this ridge rises steeply as to give battle to the sky. I climb up to seek God, my ascent is slow, my well-being pervades the soul. My body burns in the tension. For some time I wanted to be here in this corner of the mountain a little joke, I knew it would was a wonderful experience. Like all the way to the ridge, I was sure that this would give me strong emotions, and above all the soul stripped.
This air purifies my flesh, I realize with tears flowing down from the cheeks. How beautiful here! I would stay there forever. I ask God to let me stay. I ask forgiveness from the people I love and waiting for me.
The hard hands, knead the scent of the rock, injured by the thorns of the brambles, give me the opportunity to cross borders remote, I speak of those of the soul, I speak of inner boundaries that we are not always willing to pass. While I get I realize I'm made of earth and leaves. Meat and sky. They are made of rock, now brittle and now compact. I realize I'm just me, with my strengths and my weaknesses. am 14:00, altimeter 1699 m marks, missing the top 80 meters. Creeps into my mind the most courageous act of every climber: the waiver.
I continue to climb. I want to dedicate this powerful experience to a friend who is gone. The summit is there. 1730 m I stop. The shadow of the crest is projected into the flank of Timpone della Capanna. Are small compared to such greatness. I collect all the forces, the division to look for a line that never meet. At 14:16 are on top. 1.779 m. A cold wind penetrates me with strength, tired, I can see the purity of the sky the eyes of loved ones who are gone, looks kept deep in my heart and never forget. I put the jacket. Hastily I opened my backpack and drink hot tea inevitable. I wonder what will become of me when I can not live these moments. I wonder if one day it will be only through my soul that I will live and remain for ever with my mountains. Who knows if another world or another life I can give so much joy.
Sitting behind a rocky ravine, I stop to think ...
Dear Raffaele today I dedicate this to you my experience so that in me to remain indelible moments spent together. I did not come to your funeral because they remind me an opportunity in life to think that I can still see you, who knows, thin blades of grass between which rest in the wind, branches of leaves that caress, read, and then fall off, the chirping a blackbird that sits on my backpack like to see me and then again ... hello Raffaè.
0 comments:
Post a Comment