I saw a woman. I don't remember when it was the last time that I thought, seing a woman, that I was lucky to be alive because I could see her beauty. But it happened. Such grace, such fragility and fluidity in the movements, such transport while making small talks (are they really so small?). How can I be unsure about my path when I see something like that? It's real, my eyes saw that where it was unexpected, where the others can see -at most- something weird. Oh, if the world could have eyes to see the beauty hidden beyond this imperfect body

I stopped to watch the ducks on my way back, tonight. It was a nice evening, fresh and pleasantly windy. I noticed that the ducks where all together; if one was going somewhere, an other would follow. The same for the few people I met. I was the only one alone

Sometimes I wonder if this is the right palce for me, the right path. When I was young, my future was to me like a big armour: growing I would fill it completely and feeling perfectly confortable in it. The true is different, there are parts of me that don't fit in, and emptiness in the armor that I can't fill. It seems to me I grew out in the wrong shape.

What went wrong? is it my shape, or the shape of the armour, to change? I can't answer, the trip put me out of balance in so many places, what was established now is not, what was background now is foreground.

Walking is just a matter of being continuously out of balance. Maybe I'm just preparing myself for the next step. Or maybe not

Back to the old life.

Going back to my mountains helped a bit to ease the pain of tese months, but now I find myself again out of place, looking for other knights, looking -maybe- for a different order to shape my life in.

Mountains are great to face your fears, your weakness, your true self. You can't lie to the Mountain, you can't lie when you hang, attached to a rock, or when the hut seems to far to be reached. You can't lie when the mountain push you to the edge, when your nerves shake for the tension, when the sweat run down your back mixed to dust and rain. You must be strong for the weaker, and stronger for the stronger.

As always the mountains remember me to be calm and still. Clouds move, rain falls, snow melts. But the Mountain is always there, always still and impassible. Silence broken oly by falling rocks. Silence in my hears, silence in my mind. Silence to clean my thoughts, a white paper to start writing from scratch