es algo entre los amigos. Fotos, o saberlos tan olvidadizos y arrojados como tú. El perdón al que estás obligado porque sabes que hubieras hecho lo mismo. O el perdón que les das ahora, aún sabiendo que nunca lo leerán aquí, o tu pena inmensa por haber arruinado esa noche. Llegas a escribir, después de [...]
Fox in the snow, where do you go
To find something you can eat?
Cause the word out on the street is you are starving
Dont let yourself grow hungry now
Dont let yourself grow cold
Fox in the snowFox in the snow, Belle & Sebastian
“i remember the smell of the pines and the sleeping on the mattresses of beech leaves in the woodcutter’s huts and the skiing through the forest following the tracks fo hares and of foxes. In the high mountains above the tree line I remember following the track of a fox until I came in sight of him and watching him stand with his right forefoot raised and then go carefully to stop and then pounce, and the whiteness and the clutter of a ptarmigan bursting out of the snow and flying away and over the ridge.
I remember all the kinds of snow that the wind could make and their different tracheries when you were on skis. Then there were the blizzards when you were in the high Alpine hut and the strange world that they would make where we had to make our route as carefully as though we had never seen the country.”
A Moveable Feast, Ernest Hemingway
sonida: territory, Chairlift.