An animal roams through the mountains.
It scratches its face on the wood’s thorns, loses its breath
but does not give up at getting to the highest point.
From so much walking and making an effort it turns into
an organism in movement reacting to the place,
nothing more. It does not feel hunger or longing or thirst,
it only trusts in the instincts its destination brings.
Always pulled higher the animal is a magnet,
on the scale of the ants that the mountains attract.
It knows something of freedom when it gets to the peak.
It feels scattered among the clouds,
it thinks it has found its limits. But it does not know,
yet, that now it needs to learn how to descend.
Fróes, Leonardo “The Catcher in the Persimmons”. Ottawa: FlipSide, 2017. p.09. Translation by Rob Packer.