He was walking dispirited on the narrow path. It was sunset and the blue butterflies
were running out of his way, towards nowhere. The abyss was lurking at every step, on the left, on the right, tired and less surprised. He had wondered off too much from the usual road.
The mules were passing through here, silent and unknown, wandering the footpath on foot, the same step, always the same. He never knew why he always climbing. Neither could he guess why the same butterfly has this colour. And he was able to hide in his lost soul that clamour. The rocks grinded by the hostile weather were coming out crushed from underneath the soils of his boots, happy to slow down his punishment, happy to baffle his desires. Through here, through the Peruvian Andes, the only mean of transportation was the donkey. In the harsh and cold landscape, you would remain amazed by the cadence of the long-eared friend’s hooves, only the paths which are often imbedded in the stillness of the volcanic turf. A poor turf, but stately rich, lined by an acute iridescence and brilliance, conquered by the winter which looks like a hemlock. But he had no such friend and he was walking along the road on road, more tired than ever. The access paths looked as if they were cut by a gigantic saw, lost in the high peaks. The mountains appeared greenish,
blackish, maybe a bit yellowish, with white dots, which could have been nothing else
but snow. Or maybe salt, or maybe even clouds. He had a decision to make, even a
very important one. He kept on thinking how to begin his journeys. To travel through
the world was his greatest wish. And, sooner or later, he was going to put it into
practice. He could say why exactly here and right now, but the eagerness was eating
him alive, touching his nerves already stretched to the brink. He arrived in front of
the cottage made of rocks and looked once again at the sky. The stars had aligned
their milky paths, majestically sketching their trajectories. Their plethora is
enlivening his senses. He was thinking also for them, living close to them, dying a
little with them. And he could feel them close, lying in wait for his life and bringing it
in front of the world. He stepped through the narrow door, lighted up a rush light and
he prepared his sleeping quarters. Around here only two other shepherds had walked
on by, who were guiding their lamas towards the northern tuffs. It was as if he could
see them there, silent and unknowing, in the darkest corner, sleeping down,
beautifully dreaming. He lighted up a timid fire in the hearth and in his light, came.
He had spoken out load a decision, as a wise promise for life and for good. Suddenly,
he had realised he was going to start the journey of his life. And he was going to tell
his name through the world, in all the circumstances, on all occasions. He was to
meet people, with sorrows and happiness, he was going to cross over periods and he
was going to say out loud his name alongside friends. He was going to start tomorrow
straight, and then from the day after tomorrow, and then another tomorrow, another
two days hence. And still thinking deeply, Akili fell asleep dreaming.
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