A Sea of Mountains, an Ocean Of Clouds[1]
The clouds are flying low, actually below my windows, an eerily beautiful sight; especially because they’re flying in isolated groups, leaving large patches of the surrounding landscape visible, like islands in a misty sea. They seem to enjoy nestling between the myriad peaks and heights that mark this mile-high urban Andean paradise. Some seem to be pouring over foothills like vaporous waterfalls. They remind me of why I so often refer to this place as the celestial city.
It’s chilly, not a freezing cold, but very damp. In the distance haze demarks probable showers, making the outlying mountains seem somehow transparent. But it isn’t depressing, just, well, eerily beautiful. As though anything might happen, might be happening; as though Tolkien’s elves are planning a stealthy but highly stylized entry.
Manizales, Pablo Neruda’s sunset factory, the sea of mountains, also, — at least right now, — an ocean of clouds.
[1] © Guillermo Calvo Mahe, Manizales, 2010, all rights reserved
