Suddenly I hear it coming, it's night, the wind howls ... Patagonia and the bully back, you hear his call, you hear his voice, his singing. Like the sirens of Odysseus captivate this wanderer ... I do not want wax in your ears, Tie me to the mast, but let me hear the Patagonian wind, the fire of Atacama, the law of the desert. Let me hear the song of women and the moon, the sound of rain falling in the sea, heat fatigue. No, I do not want wax in your ears as the sailors of the man of Penelope. I just want to hear the call of nature, the call of the wild, the words of the starry nights in the desert. I awake for a moment ... where they are ... in bed at my house, but the Patagonian wind now took possession of my soul, parched by the sun Chile. I know that wind, I know his words: he wants to go home. But it's not yet time is not yet time is not yet time. But the decision has long been taken: on his journey.
All photos of this post are Bastianello Paul.
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