Long bus rides from the volunteer house to San Isidro, sunsets to make me quiver, salsatecas to make a fool of myself in while people try to teach me to dance, spinning little Bryan fast, fast, fast in the mornings til we both nearly fall over, taking the kids to the waterfall and falling in el rio a little. Dust, dust, dust. Elva from El Refugio and her glistening open eyes and hearty menus. Hikety-hike-hikes (with the vague idea of preparing for real treks). I've been in Arequipa for a few weeks now and I like it. I wanted to share some photos from Chala, a rickety fishing village that I stayed in before, but I have (hopefully temporary) camera problems, preventing me from sharing the eerie image of the foggy coastline and all the romantic thoughts of solitude and strength that it brought to mind, grey photos for a bedazzled imagination.
Anyway, I am happy. Sleeping well, meeting lovely people and learning a lot. And sometimes when I can't sleep, I see funny things and pin them to donkeyhighdeas, but I can't explain them very well and perhaps I ought to learn about grammar:
When the pieces came together they found they could never make just one picture.
One inhaled the hair of another and was at once a bear, a beat, a blink in the midday sun, occupying all the space there ever was and ever could be and fitting all that quite nicely on the underside of a leaf, a fallen leaf that an ant could carry, if not for the exhale which fluttered the leaf from the ground, seeming as it did, such a flutter, to come from nowhere (though we know, within) on a still, still day. Day it seemed, though uncertainly so as the light was everchanging, a period of activity, opposed to the slumberful eve, we may, if we like, call it day.
Another piece, previously possessing hair which could be inhaled, on intuiting the spine of the leaf of the first, gasped at the mighty river therein, feeling, imagining with delight, how wonderful it would be, how glorious, to be a tributary to such a marvellous flow, winding as it did with purpose and poise, so artfully. Being thus transformed by such sensations, this other, also, continued to metamorphosise, at once, sugarcane, a sparrow, a sprite.
Two such pieces, if such indeed they can be called, spining through and around the pillars of the imagination, star acrobats in a post-physics world, change in response to the heat and fibre of one another. And I adore it. And yet, this is what they always do, had always done, separately, to everything, everyone shall we say, and everywhere before...
- But we didn't know them then and had no need to, the nature of their meeting, their dawning awareness of their coexistence and what we can take the liberty to surmise is their joy at this recognition, this necessitated the bringing of a frame, which they rightly, naturally, happily, refuse to reside within, but decorate most marvellously with their shadows, echoes, dawn tremblings and lustful light, eternal new views to love the eyes of the night.
...Baja, baja, baja!
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