Ligamentos

Assim de repente vem-me à memória estar agachada, à beira da estrada, a brincar com pedrinhas na poeira. As bicicletas estão no descanso e eu estou à espera de qualquer coisa, sem pressa, sem desejos, estou satisfeita assim. Noutra altura estou à procura de flores pequeninas. Antes disso, ou talvez depois, pouco importa, estou a descer uma encosta a alta velocidade (já devia ser grande o suficiente para ter a minha própria bicicleta). A alegria e o sabor daquela descida - e das descidas que se seguiram e antecederam - foram superadas por poucas outras coisas desta vida. O sol de fim de tarde, o chapéu da mãe que eu orgulhosamente usava a querer escapar com o vento (uff!, que sorte que me lembrei de apertar o fio à frente do pescoço!), o cheiro fresco do campo, o infinito à nossa frente. Quem poderia adivinhar que tivemos a maior sorte do mundo, por podermos estar ali? Parecia simplesmente normal, expectável.  Entre cagarras, sonhos, vacas bêbedas e cachalotes, entre mergulh...

Back in time where clouds for me were simply a bunch of H2O molecules in suspension in the atmosphere and summers were endless periods of pure enjoyment under the sun and salty water, there were we, excited and expectant, arriving to what was going to be the last week of summer holiday.   The usual smell of resin and the dryness of the air filled us with the energy we would promptly spend in the countless dives down at the dam. After many hours, which easily seemed more as a couple of minutes, still wet and vibrant, we would look at the place and visualize already the chaotic hustle of thirty little beings which would fill the week to come. And the day arrives. The orange dust clouds and the bumpy noise of the tires was the starting shot; what was empty clay pavement some hours before was now full of camping backpacks and clumsy sleeping bags. The mild twittering of birds was replaced by an orchestra of excited voices. Running around like headless chickens everyone was t...