Into the fog
Impossible to disassociate the pictures one takes from what it is going on in one’s mind…
When I saw the fog coming from the West and slowly invade the hilly sides of Sintra, I took the car and went up to one of its highest points, parking it somewhere in the woods and walking from there to the top. There wasn’t a sound or soul around. Heading towards an ancient and ruined monastery that stands at the very top, the fog was so thick that I couldn’t see more than 10 meters ahead. From the balcony that usually provides a spectacular view to the Atlantic Ocean, 400 meters bellow, I could only see a bright white glow in all directions. What could perfectly have been an aesthetic experience, if I was in a proper relaxed state of mind, turned out to be a revelation of a sort of blindness-like condition and I felt very uncomfortable. Such powerful light, yet it could not make me see that ocean and those walls and stones that I knew were surely nearby. No picture could have captured this visual paradox.
As I was putting myself together, walking back to grab my car, “vision” was slowly restored and, as fog thinned, trees started to materialize slowly, one by one. The inexpressible joy of seeing…