Fuente: https://picryl.com/
Perhaps when you read these lines, I’ll be ecstatic watching the Perseids, that torrent of meteors whose peak occurs precisely at this time of the year.
If Providence were on my side, maybe there’d also be a chance of an Aurora Borealis, the one that has eluded me so many times.
This weekend, I’ll be making my camping debut.
An unfulfilled dream from my childhood in Venezuela, and also here in Canada either, since my very British husband used to say that “camping is the equivalent of spending a lot of money to live like a homeless.”
I already have my explorer’s backpack, my sleeping bag, and my flashlight ready.
My family, pets included, are taking me camping in the mountains with them this Saturday. My biggest concern, bears, aren’t an issue since the area is apparently protected.
But as always, my anticipation of this adventure lights a big fire in my head. That internal crackling at the prospect of discovering something new, those sparks of curiosity about the unknown.
It’s there that I stop to think that I truly am, without knowing it, an explorer, even though I’ve never been camping.
I’m not alone in this.
I think all of us who attempt this thing called “writing” constantly find ourselves exploring inner caverns, vertiginous cliffs, unknown regions of space, mind, memory, time.
In my exploratory experience, discovering a ray of light in the palm of my hand, or feeling the touch of a butterfly on my head, constitute a great discovery.
I’ll tell you how my camping experience ended.
Perseids and Northern Lights, or perhaps I’ll have to agree with my wise husband.
As for me, I will continue exploring paths without moving from my armchair, my bright space, where imagination and life ignite my vital fire.
I only hope that my weekend as a camper isn’t what they call: Debut and farewell!
