El Cocuy National Park: I’ve left it too late to try to record this experience in words – sitting in an apartment in Bogota with swish of cars on rainy streets. The hum of fridge. Static of florescent lights. Wi-fi.
The silence is gone.
A never empty silence filled with the seep and trickle, the rush and roar of water. Constant movement. The teeth and bones of the earth exposed. Those peaks, too, are fluid, plastic, the forms curved and moving still, settling and shifting, rising, falling. Immense but fragile. Contingent. The ice caps shrinking, receding.
Blue curve of sky above – intense, brilliant. A soaring wide winged bird circling high.
A sudden plunge into glacial water. Then stretch, shivering, out on sun-warm rocks.
The rumble and crack of falling ice. The night illuminated solely by starlight. Fog. Clouds above, below. Stony windswept vistas and glowing valleys. Still pools of water gathered in stony bowls. Reflections and light fill me to the brim. Tiny plants curled around boulders, clinging to life in sheltered nooks and crannies.
Thin air. Step following step, climbing, descending.
Clouds swirl, snaking up valleys and spilling upwards in defiance of the gravity that rules the earthbound, blocking out light and warmth transforming the world in an instant into a cold grey eerie place. A shifting, writhing, insubstantial, disorientating place in which sudden fissures open onto the incandescent sunlit world lying in a parallel universe that exists only inches away and yet totally unreachable.
* A series of books, possibly for children, by Finnish author, Tove Janson. Any other Moomintroll fans out there?