Translation of Remerciements.

It is the mountain, here again, as always, that builds the bridges and separates the camps.

Never has it been so gentle, so welcoming, so full of mystery, of restful silence, of shimmering colours that know how to respond with a sweetness as simple as evidence, infinitely restorative, to the rage and pain that inhabit us, we who see–we who want to see–how much we know how to stay out of range of this reality™ as it is conceived confined, far from the free inspaces of the domain of the kites and vultures.

If, alone, it remains the place of resistance, then the mountain remains in my heart, in my voice, it frames my bones and resonates in my steps.

To the clouds that fly over it, water it and shelter it. To the wind that makes it cruel. To the water that inhabits it.