Le retour aux études me tient bien occupé. C’est la raison pour laquelle il n’y a pas eu d’article depuis six mois. Au début du mois de février, je suis passé du certificat au baccalauréat en traduction professionnelle. Le travail, les enfants, cinq cours à l’université, la course… ça remplit bien un hiver. Je suis en session d’été jusqu’à la fin du mois de juillet. J’ai beaucoup de retard dans mon plan d’entraînement cette année, mais Edith fait ça comme une championne. Nous avons le Capes 100, en Nouvelle-Écosse, dans moins de deux mois. Ce ne sera pas facile.

Comme j’écris beaucoup à l’école, je me suis dit que je pourrais partager quelques-uns de mes textes sur le blogue. Cet été, j’ai Creative Writing Workshop, un cours vraiment super. Pour le texte ci-dessous, il fallait choisir une photo et en parler. J’ai choisi la photo ci-dessus, prise lors d’une randonnée au Colorado en 2016.


All Good Things Are Wild and Free

I hadn’t read anything by Henry David Thoreau when this picture was taken. Nonetheless, in the summer of 2016, on a family road trip to Colorado, I grasped the meaning of this quote. Not only did I understand it, but I felt it, heart and soul. That day, that minute, I knew I had reached a tipping point in my life. Call it an epiphany if you want, but I knew then and there that mountains would play a central part in my life. However, I didn’t know it would carve a new career path for me.

Ice lake was one of our few “planned” destinations. Hardrock 100, a famous 100-mile race, is held nearby. After drooling over the breathtaking race pictures for the last few years, my wife and I wanted to see for ourselves. We suspected it would be hard, especially for our youngest boy, who had turned six the week prior. Hiking eight miles, with more than 3,000 feet of climbing, starting at an elevation of 10,000 feet? Challenge accepted!

We started early, under a clear, blue sky. The red path, largely devoid of rocks and roots, meandered through hill and dale. After three miles, difficulty arises in the form of a roaring stream at the bottom of a steep, rocky climb. The day was getting warmer; the air, thinner.

Reaching a plateau, we emerged in a field of multicoloured wildflowers, surrounded by rusty-red peaks kissing the sky. A few snow patches dotted the barren hillsides. In the middle of this amphitheatre, Ice Lake left us speechless. Yes, even me, the guy who never stop talking! “The lake looks Photoshopped,” I said. Blue! Not pale, dull blue, but as blue as the soft azure surface of the Caribbean. I took it all in—the violet and gold of the wildflowers, the red and white of the mountains, the emerald of the grass, the cobalt of the sky and lake, the silver of the stream. Warmth filled my heart; tears welled up in my eyes. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, I stood there with no need to break the silence. Tired but proud of themselves, the kids were gazing in silent awe as well. I will forever cherish that fond memory, shared with the four people dearest to me.

On our way down, I snapped this photograph, from the top of the escarpment. We’re surrounded by the rugged San Juan mountains, and in the midst of it, a silver stream winds through the verdant valley. I don’t remember the time, nor the date, but I remember the pounding of my heart and the peace in my mind. Indeed, all good things are wild and free.

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