Living in the valley

In our hotel room in Purmamarca, in the country where Fernanda was born
(much closer to her comfort zone than mine)
she and I looked at a map,
a pamphlet really
that is given to tourists like us to inform them of nearby sights to see
and which I am a bit embarrassed to say was not only useful
but also entertaining.
After reading the destinations, we decided to go to "Salinas Grandes",
and set out the next morning,
And as the driver drove, and Argentine tourists repeatedly sang songs that quickly fluttered out in that bus we were on,
I looked ahead and out of the windows.
And while not feeling pressured by them, the mountains that bordered us
impressed on me the sensation that we were being wedged in
and I thought how often I feel stifled by the ideas I have about the world.

At that moment
I wished that my vision of the world was as lush as I imagined that valley could be
between me and those hills, fed by rain
and melting snow.
Probably, they held their moisture well, using every last droplet.
And as we passively eased through that landscape
I remembered that the hard crust of the earth shifts, and is flexible enough to alleviate built up pressure.