Snow Walk

by Iván Krasowski Bissio (Argentina)

Making a local connection Argentina

I sat on the white snow. It was so white that white it felt even behind the opacity of the sunglasses. I rose my sight and the white was lesser, for the day was sunny and the clouds in the sky were few. Few yet, like the snow, pretty white. Wind was there none, and sitting on the snow allowed my legs to be relaxed, to rest the long walk I had to take earlier. Nobody had been there in many days; even though it hadn’t snowed too much, my boots sank at every step and trekking up was really hard. So was that, at the top of the slope, I decided to sit on the cold snow. But the sun prevented my hands from quailing at that chill, it kept them warm. Then I could enjoy the landscape, the new natural image that my cherished Argentina was offering me. My flag began the picture, cheerfully waving up in the sky; descending a bit, the peaks of the high and radiant araucarias started to appear, with their strong dark green intertwined with the white of the last snowfall. I felt happy because there it was, before me, a complete forest of those trees: concentrated to my eyes, about a hundred meters down, yet extended to the left, to the right and, if I dared to turn, behind, up in every hill and around the Batea Mahuida volcano. Blessed who is able to see a forest (especially a forest of araucarias) personally. Blessed for he will see life, nature, peace, important things because single, foreign from the hand of the man. Mi sight acknowledged the beauty in its whole as it understood that the landscape was everything, not just what it came to my eyes. Past the woods, where the mountains went down and met each other, there was the lake. The Aluminé, watched from up there, immense and tiny at a time, so clean, fulfilling and replicating the image around, except for that sunray through everything, majestic and serene. I had seen it before, standing at the shore, with water a few centimeters from my feet, with some of the araucarias sheltering me from the world (I hadn’t really noticed the forest yet), with the snow-hatted pebbles by me, and a long stone bench inviting to come back with mates and sit for eternity. My snow seat regained my attention: steady feet, small backrest. I let myself back, transforming my seat into bed. My head appreciated the fresh pamper; it had been too much time under the heat of the Antu. I suddenly rose, with an idea in mind. I had seen a little girl do so; back in time I ignored her, but now it just matched my calm. Around me, the snow was as it had just fallen; the nearest footprints, aside the ones that were mine, were about ten meters away, and were probably left by some dog. I punched the flat soil, to reach the softer snow. I took some with my hands, both of them, with the required care not to compact it. Then, after vacillating for almost no time, I did it: I bit. No tongue at first, of course. And I felt something unique, something that those who did this will be able to understand instantly, and those who did not I hope they get at least partially from my description. Even though the idea and the succession of moments are similar, the differences are more or less explainable; nevertheless, it reminded of the sensation of biting and tasting cotton candy. First, it felt like cotton, airy and not dense, until the heat of my mouth and the movement of my tongue compacted the snow and took its size away. Finally, it melted away. And it was very refreshing.