Stone Paths and Silent Storms.
I stood at the edge of the world, or so it felt, as the wind whispered secrets only the mountains could understand. The Pico da Mina, the highest peak in São Paulo and the fourth in all of Brazil, lay beneath my feet, its rugged spine stretching into the horizon. Behind me, the states of Minas Gerais and Rio de Janeiro unfolded like a painter’s dream, their jagged silhouettes crowned by the Pico das Agulhas Negras, the fifth tallest peak, and its companions in the Parque do Itatiaia. The air was thin, the silence profound, and the weight of my cargueira—my pack—felt like the burden of all the dreams I had carried up this far. But then, the unexpected: a rare and sudden rain. It came not with the fury of summer storms but with a quiet insistence, as if the sky itself had decided to join my journey. I turned my back to the peaks, my face to the descent, and began to move. The rain chased me, a playful yet relentless companion, as I navigated the rocky path downward. My boots crunched against the stone, each step a note in the symphony of my descent. I was a wanderer, a seller of dreams, my bag filled not with goods but with the repertory of life and songs I had gathered along the way. The mountains had taught me their language—one of patience, resilience, and hope. Like a stubborn child, I had invaded their heights, their hidden corners, their silent hearts. And now, as the rain painted the air with silver streaks, I felt the weight of my journey lift. The phrases I had invented, the stories I had told, they flew like birds into the wind, searching for someone who might sing them back to me. I sold my dreams, not for gold, but for the faith of the road, for the promise of a happy stone path at the end of my travels. And as I descended, the rain at my back and the peaks fading into the mist, I smiled. For so many years, I had told the story of my love for this land, for the place where I was born. So many years of singing my time, my people, their faith smiling back at me. So many years of my voice on the roads, so many dreams I had lived. And now, as I fled the rain, I carried them all with me—down the mountain, into the unknown, where the next dream awaited. *** PS. Number ONE on Explore on March 7th., 2025.