The Shepherd

In a different life, I would really love to be a shepherd in Patagonia, facing the Andes in the southernmost lagoons of Torres Del Paine. Sometimes I would not return to my dinky home on top of the small hill, where a sole pampas tree stands the tests of time albeit looks slightly stringed from the winds. On some of those days I would roam the banks of the strait of Magellan, all the way to Faro San Isidro. On the other days I would make my bed on the crunchy leaves under the Andean moon on the side of lake Nahuel Huapi.

I would exist in that moment and in that moment only, my being shall be defined with that state of one-ness with nature and absolutely nothing else bearing any significance. Sometimes in those moments, I would think about another one of myself in another life, maybe in another time or place leading an existence and wonder how that might've just be.