Cold feet

Here they are: my cold and lonely feet under thousands of years of the Ice River, at the Pirineus Mountains. Ancient world making me claim: "it´s cold! It seems to be born yestarday!" Isn´t it ironic? A moment in my life, seconds that ends and never will be recovered. I remember my cold feet under the water, a window in my mind that I open sometimes, when I feel sad or melancholic. The vains of the mountains bleeding inside my feet, through the water, running
into the wild, falling in waterfalls, joinning to another rivers, more water, more people, many cities around... Finally, the blood of the Ice River ends in the ocean, near my home, where I return after my holidays.