The Pyrenees

It starts with smells of humus,

With waterfalls and the tranquillity of rivers,

With trees that shade the path.

Then the blueberry bushes

Blossom their purple, offering their berries.

The core of the mountain is rock

Geological times give a feel of immutability,

Warm in its coldness, the granite is peace

Until it spills into avalanches

Crushing flowers, redesigning landscapes.

Higher, always higher I go

Like the ibex, I spring

From one rock to the next

The block seems sturdy, it can't betray

Balance is key, I find a hold

For my hand, for my feet

On the ridge, on the arête

To the top, in the wind.

Lower, at the bottom of a scree,

Between marmots

Running from holes to stones,

There are the skins of two cows,

Which fed the griffon vultures,

The quietude of the mountain unaffected

By the personal drama of the two bovids.