The sea of clouds to our feet part Baroque towers of the high peaks, Islands elevated and quiet browsing the turmoil pielago of fog, submissively squat at their feet. But the fog is not something purely negative; dip in opens us new horizons, so high and deeper than the lofty world that surrounds us. The fog puts us within ourselves. The fog is blindness with open eyes and also the glimpse. Also are men, life, nesting industrious and patient in the laps of the slopes. Accompanied by la majada loneliness the Shepherd lives an incredibly austere life. The huts of tall grassland, without amenities, windowless and dark become inconceivably cosy refuge when weathering breaks out outside the country; they become in that indefinable entity which is home. And when the Sun and the clarities loom by la majada, whole mountain is home.

There in the remote majadas is still the old hospitality that means not giving us leftover or us is not essential, but our home entirely, sharing and distributing the most endearing that a man can give, their poor poverty. They are also the names, the verb that defines and describes each landform lovingly. Here verb and object correspond exactly, together inseparably by the binder of love. In some cases this union occurs by a perfect onomatopoeia material and spiritual. And finally there are the summits. The peaks don’t lend themselves easily to words; they are beyond words, in the bright and omnisignificante universe of silence.

The rite of hands narrowed to reach the highest point is the symbol of the fraternity of men through Earth and ascetic expiration of oneself. The man inside is also a tower that is necessary to trace and ascension to the mountaineering Summit is the parallel metaphor that Ascend from the inside which is our human destiny. At the Summit we have reached that point in which there is nothing than to raise, in that only subtracted us take flight. We have already forgotten everything; they have lagged behind the moments of uncertainty before the uncertain way, tormented grip to a suddenly rotten rock that breaks, breaks us hands, the heart; wrong with the soul step in suspense in an endless moment. We have made a quick and incomplete journey, with memory, with the heart, in the Picos de Europa. The remoteness and peace allow debug visions and experiences past, eliminating inesenciales circumstances and emphasizing the truly significant elements, surpassing pure instantaneous and fleeting Impressionism by a deep and permanent expressionism. I stacked entity you memories and fond emotions, turns already for my in irretrievable past, vivid in my years of humble Mountaineer by the sophisters Picos de Europa. In the peace of insomnia, in the loneliness of the big city I redid many times mentally with delightful attention to detail each of the last moments and these visions I have comforted and serenado. Hopefully this collective reunion just perform has helped us all to reaffirm our love for the mountain, in whose summits we have reached so many times the best reward that life can offer us: peace with ourselves.