beech leaves are tiny and each occupies its proper place. It is easy to distinguish. The green dress hugging branches. The yellow jackets bearing cover the path and, from time to time, go hand in hand with another orange wrapped in a stole. Few which look to the horizon. They look red hats. Expect the wind to bring in a few weeks.
I look back. A subtle nose followed us. He sniffs the air a few notes of pepper, jojoba, vanilla, sweat, wet leather, mint, milk, bread baking, salt meat. We and our victuals. Miss Fiamma raises his camera. "A fox," I whisper. Follow your way along the path, as if we happen every day. I find that oxygen is not as vital as they say. In fact, you may stop breathing for several minutes, I assure you, nothing happens. In the Bay
wild grass as fat eddies reach me knees. Here and there grow many species of flowers, shapes and colors as varied, if you saw them in a box I would be unlikely Rousseau. However, this botanical fantasy exists, is real. How is it possible?
The rise is slow and difficult. The tread loses his balance again on another rock. The sun is reflected in the huge tongue of ice that is about to engulf us. We bowed our heads and go. Not much else to say. Went down after an hour and a half. What we leave at the foot of the glacier and is what brought us safely away in our memory.
catamaran hulls are decorated with the profile of a barracuda. It is almost impossible to confront the icy wind. We cling to the handrail. Everything here is challenging, awkward, angry and, at a time, stirring. An imposing sea lion protecting her young and snuggles against his flank. Miss Fiamma hug her waist. It is necessary to take care of what is proper in this environment stalker.
Land doomsday has hairy cheeks, breath of lupine and a hearty laugh. So nature knows conjuring gusts of melancholy that lead to madness.
far we have come.
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