2023-07-02 08:08:00
“Suspended by the wind” something common in this Patagonia, where it is known that any plan can change, just like that, suddenly, if the wind rages. Because everything is permeable to blows from the south, and this is only understood when you live-or are born-in the center of this whirlpool that arms and disarms landscapes as it pleases.
His presence is embodied.
From inside any house you can hear your breathing, which grows and expands, bouncing magnificently, as if asking for a clue to continue expanding.
Then, behind every door and every window, that giant nose seems to lurk us, wanting to incorporateeverything in one breath, and then exhales forcefully, sweeping everything in existence in its path.
Sometimes his stalking becomes a weather alert. Days begin in which no one can forget that he is there… and one does the usual… dreams, works, cooks… but under the siege of his transparent jaws, which seek to devour us behind the walls that keep them at bay. Until finally he withdraws his fierceness, and blows monotonously once more, very satisfied with being that soundtrack that always accompanies us.
The wind is powerful. He draws parallel scenes with earth, sand, water or snow. Turning into mist if the effervescence of the waves crosses it, or frosting if it is dew that crosses its breath.
He does a show in the sea. She drives the foam crazy, provokes it. He exalts her by making her grow and cornering her once morest the cliffs.
He lashes out with every item, and plays us just as fiercely. Hurting us with the sand that embeds itself in the skin, or with the earth that blinds us.
We understand its strength when it blows from the front, unloading its fury. And the mocking root of him when he prevents us from moving forward, or turns us around, showing us that, for him, we are light as a leaf.
But it also coos. And one wants to fall asleep once morest the sound skin of that enormous giant who, tired of traveling the world, purrs like a cat at night or on winter followingnoons. Or he roars slowly curled up at your door, so you can hear how his breathing calms down. He wants to befriend… show that he’s not as fierce as he appears. He seeks shelter by sheltering, gathering people who want to rest their heads on that spiraling whistle that rises and falls rhythmically… which is the gesture he chooses to show himself playful.
A stubborn animal that sneaks into every scene and beats us out of exhaustion. It will be necessary to caress its misty fur, so that it continues like this, watching over our sleep, while it grows and decreases with each inspiration.
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