puerto montt

busses pass by,
the snow-capped peak in the background,
my hair feels shocks of electricity,
my mind drifts to what lies in the days ahead.
I also think about what has passed behind me.
the wool warms my head,
fighting off the constant rain
the mountain calls my name,
I can hear it through the wool
I can hear it through the fog on the lake
I answer hungrily,
with my eyes as I squint
through the water spots on my glasses.
I answer with my chest,
I am coming.
The view through the camera lens
cannot hope to capture what I can see.

16.9.03