Leila's Three
Constanza Mazzotti. Peninsula 360 Press. [P360P]
We all remember what made us turn to look at the sky and then at the horizon; a promise of infinite landscape and fantasies designed by an object that we saw moving away without us.
Turn to the sky, hold ten thousand meters of altitude between your fingers and play with what is not there. It's gone.
Imitating the flight of the animal with both hands, thinking about what we yearn for but do not know returns our feet to the ground and those hands to our pockets.
But the horizon, that infinite that promises, that paralyzes but insists, is placed at our feet every time we decide to tackle it.
The most powerful animal in the heavens, the one with the yellow beak and powerful claws, the Renaissance yearning to glide over landscapes and those desires that remain in you and me crystallize when we ride on it, on the horizon and in the animal.
The docile winged one on the ground wakes up like a giant when he comes into contact with the wind, shakes his gill folds and starts to bellow, stands up with tremendous difficulty and tells you in the form of a wave in the stomach that there is no return.
The shy animal that on land lets itself be guided by small lights and ridiculous flags challenges you with its three hundred thousand kilos on its back to trust and keep silent and pay attention because in a few seconds everything will disappear.
At what point does a clumsy, heavyweight become a guide to those longings that yesterday we stepped on between miles of concrete?
Crossing oceans, breaking through fierce boundaries makes us forget our smallness and trust the conjecture of metals and complicated alloys and share the dream of becoming metal eagles with all of us who go there.
The winged artifact that flew over our fingers and got lost in the horizon, marked for some the childhood dreams in afternoons that fell like a shooting star; a star that now at night we have boarded, a star that let us taste the sky.
