God! How dusty the road was! For months I was walking across the US coast to coast, with my guitar, my long hair, and my backpack full of books, poetry, and a bundle of clothes.
The Arizona desert smiled at me in all its immense sobriety, with some cactus lost in the vastness of space, almost pointing to the sky above my head.
My songs kept me company along with certain Thoreau’s books. Every new village, lost in an America forgotten by God, seemed to me as crowded as a metropolis. In the drugstores I bought supplies for the following days: some canned beans, dried fruit, and biscuits. Continue reading “Playing my songs”
My body crawled forward through the mud of the swamp. It was raining in the meantime. I felt I could not move forward just with my own strength. I felt helpless in front of the narrow prospect of the arrival of the night, and the lack of a refuge.
I was resigned I could not get out of it. I was resigned but I was not desperate. I knew it would last for a long time that crossed, but for the love of life I had to do it, for the sake of what I would find at the end of this absurd obstacle, I had to resist.
Summoning my will, I stopped for a moment, and with my legs immersed in stagnant water and mud, I looked up at the sky, my eyes opened wide to the rain, and out of anger I cried out, with all my breath in my body: Continue reading “The wooden boat”