In wool strip
- I would say I like most grazing works. However, in times of the sheep herd cycle, the preferred time is delivery. When I write these lines, 25 lambs were born at home. Only a small sample if you think about 160 lambs are born.
I expected to thirst for the time of delivery. I wished with the same passion that I would go out into the sea fleeing from that penetrating heat. And it's come, it's come to freshness, the one that gives you your breath.
It is beyond this sea of wool that those who over the past few months have fed, with art or form, the fear and solastalgia that inhabit us. I've left behind Oleta and Izazpi, who look from the grass above the house, and by closing the doors of the country, the cimes of Meaka and Irimo that I have ahead, the cimes that I want to turn into industrial polygons. And those who justify it. And to those who collaborate in it.
Once in the field, I'm free, turning my back on the mountains I want, wool delights my heart in roughness, and the smell of lanolin is free to dive into my lungs. The body moves easily in the joints and the red of the placentals tells me about the essence of life, a cry that wants to be whispering.
After Karena came the pasta. So the sheep, rolled up, tells the lamb that it also lives outside the womb. Serving his mother, the lamb begins the search. & '97; The instinct directs the tiki to the bottom of the belly, until the tta manages to open the tap. He has achieved the key to life and, with joy, the newborn shakes the tail side by side.
Tiki still doesn't know, but after a few days he will run and jump in the field (a few weeks will pass to run on the prairie). To do so, he begins his first attempts with his mother, after short and fearful jumps, curiosity leads him to contemplate the world from the watchtower over his adjacent mother.
How can I not want to swim for a long time in this arid sea? The amniotic sac of the artery keeps me from a bleak atmosphere outside the artery. There is no injustice here. No abuse of authority. Not defenceless. No green trap.
The night, like corn, has the ability to remove them. Keeping the parallel artery doors does not hurt, the shadow of solastalgia does not obscure the heart.
The night is magical. And the sheep is even more magical at night. You breathe total harmony. I don't think anything more relaxing than seeing sheep and lambs lying down together. You lie in the gentle ballast of wool that has emerged in the coconut, and with your eyes closed, the fullness overflows when you find the seeds of solidarity that you have left out.
You've felt the roots firmly.
They have made you a pastor.
They've made you mountaineers.
