The rocks and the birds

A long weekend deserved a long drive. Not that I love sitting in a car for hours listening to kids fight on top of the blaring music, but it was still a step better than spending it in my concrete cracker box.

We decided to travel all the way to the tip of the country (that’s not really far away) and I sat there dreaming of new characters that I could create for my story. We sped through some really wonderful desert sceneries.

It was an exhilarating place. Tall, harsh, rocky mountains looming huge on one side while the other wound to a slope ending in a glistening greenish blue lake. It was a peculiar scenery, devoid of any kind of flora, at the same time complete in its own beauty.

It was like the tall proud rocks proclaim they did not need the ornamentation of greens and flowers to complete them.

As an expat, I was at once proud to witness their beauty and jealous of their permanence. I have always wondered how would it be to live in a city long enough to grow roots and become a part of it like the tall buildings, the lakes and those proud mountains. But I have always been a part of the floating crowd.

A flock of birds, small, white and totally captivating (so much that my son stopped his fight to look at them) sat near the water. These migratory birds seemed totally at ease, pecking at the sand, dirt or whatever it was that they found so absorbing in that ground. They had made their peace in their temporary arrangement.

Passing between the rocky hills and those peaceful birds, I still had a long way to go! 

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