Something odd is happening to me this morning. It’s an odd, resounding feeling, as if part of my body had been, somehow and suddenly, teleported to the valley of Caracas.
Like sweet but deep torture, I feel with full clarity the smells and the calm, warm embrace of a quiet morning. I hear the stillness of the valley and the sounds of the birds, each with their respective personalities and dialects, as the valley awakens. The cloud skirt of the mountain, the expectation of a day filled only with Spanish words and phrases, and the Venezuelan food that floods my mind with the nostalgic reminiscence worthy of childhood granparent visits.
I feel it all at once, somehow. And yet, somehow, I see myself and all of my body anchored, fully confined within the space of my office cubicle. I am instead surrounded by plastic products and the sounds of AC fans, somehow living all of that valley at once, with tortuous intensity.
I yearn only to resume my visits, yet this request alone has left me starved.
Image Source: Wikimedia Commons. “Caracas y El Avila”