E Rano months since I returned to the mountains, should be selected for the return of the Crestone Loricati did not look like a good idea, then do it over a period of hot weather seemed to be a half-crazy. But I wanted to meet again with old friends, relive past memories about friendship and the joy of living, to find myself living the experience of the mountain this time in a special way: a father. So, before each ascent, I am resuming my old habits: the list of material, equipment list, the food to be brought.
I follow my step, I know that the south of Crestone Serra Dolcedorme must determination of the forces. I have no hurry. I climb up choose some line that follows the rocky gorges, just not to lose contact with the smooth belly that made me come. In the lines that give a little 'breathing joking, laughing, strengthen old friendships, making up if they build new ones.
the foot of the amphitheater rock I keep away from the largest group, the high risk of causing some downloads di pietre, ci ricompattiamo in dieci e scegliamo il nostro stretto canale di salita. Ad uno ad uno ci infiliamo nelle fauci del Dolcedorme, le pietre non tardano ad arrivare, sfiorati da grossi proiettili ci ripariamo, giù ne vediamo rotolare altri fatti staccare dai gruppi impegnati all’interno di altre ripide bocche di salita.
At times it seems to get on the sharp spine of a large prehistoric animal, rock flakes hours between poor fragile now resistant. The show is wonderful, I loiter kidnapped by the voices of silence. Subtle, subtle items, which is easy to get lost without knowing it. The sun burns in my arms, I feel warm on my face. Buds open into me, mighty arms back up into the infinite sky sharp ridges between high cliffs. I'm thirsty. I stop several times but I do not drink, I am distracted by the majestic view of large masses of rock, oblivious to the need to drink em'incanto scrutinize the subtle ripples in the rocks, the fruits of labor millions of years of immense geological forces.
I look up, were as nothing in this crop of life made of rock and sky. There is a silence especially difficult to explain. The herb appears to remain folded, motionless nell'alitare light wind. Even the stones seem to have forgotten to drop. The voices of silence brought me in a silent dialogue made of smiles and winks, those between a child and mother, expressions, words without language it. I note that two faces touch, talk through mouthfuls of joy and complete without the other. Prey to this delusion continues to rise, witness the powerful play of love.
I volti che giocano di mia moglie e mio figlio salgono con me, a tratti scorgo anche quello di mia madre e mi meraviglio nel vederla giocare con me quand’ero bambino. Ho sete, porto le mani al viso, mi accorgo di piangere. Vedo la cima. Pochi metri, un gruppo di amici festanti.
Non c’è più niente da salire. Sono stanco. Ho voglia di sedermi con le spalle sull’erba fresca, godermi questo spazio senza fine. Ho voglia di continuare ad ascoltare il fragore silenzioso di questa sorgente che mi ha accompagnato durante la salita ed inconsapevolmente dissetato: the source of Love.
PS: the fourth last and third last photos appear courtesy of Massimo Gallo
, the second to last photo appears courtesy of Mimmo Peace
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