Mountain Fog

The night before, Rita and I had organized a walk to the mountains.
– This way, – Rita pointed out, showing me the new track we had discovered last week.
Sophie and Rita sighed.
– Are we still far? – Sophie asked.


We stopped before reaching the top of the mountain. To see the fog and the mountains in perfect harmony at that moment, after two hours of walking, was perfect for us.
– Let’s stop right here. – said Rita.
– Hmmm …
It was hard to concentrate and say something. The air was pure, the sound of the birds was Mozart to my ears, and everything around me was perfect …
This time it was easy not to feel the tiredness of climbing the mountain.
– It’s wonderful, it stopped in time, at this very moment, – Sophie said.
I felt a shiver.
– Photography, for example, will remind us of this moment, – she went on, – but it is impossible to register what I feel.
The conversations had suddenly stopped, and the silence remained in the forest.

Na noite anterior, Rita e eu tínhamos combinado uma caminhada até às montanhas.
– Por aqui – indicou Rita, orientando-me do novo trilho que tínhamos descoberto a semana passada.
Sophie e Rita suspiraram.
– Ainda falta muito? – perguntou Sophie.
Parámos antes de chegar ao topo da montanha. Ver-mos o nevoeiro e as montanhas em perfeita harmonia, naquele instante, depois de duas horas a caminhar, era perfeito para nós.
– Vamos parar aqui mesmo. – disse Rita.
– Hummmm…
Era difícil concentrar-me e formar palavras. O ar era puro, o som dos pássaros eram Mozart para os meus ouvidos, e à minha volta tudo era perfeito…
Desta vez, era fácil não sentir o cansaço de subir a montanha.
– É maravilhoso, parava no tempo, neste exacto momento – comentou Sophie.
Senti um arrepio.
– A fotografia, por exemplo, irá recordar-nos deste momento – continuou ela – mas, é impossível registar o que sinto.
As conversas tinham-se interrompido, de repente, e o silêncio permaneceu na florestais…

Credits: Image and text thescheme617
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