Paramo

The water rests in the moors, sleeps in its moss, its lichens, its mist, in its flowers and its greens. When it is ready, it seeks, drop by drop, a channel and rushes through the mountains, generating colors, flavors and sounds. Sculpt waterfalls, explore corners and sow life. The banks of the river are invented, where songs and stories are born for all generations.

Water works night and day, month after month, in the lands, in the bodies, in the sacred invention of life. That's why he needs a rest, a bed, a home. The moor offers it to him, that is why it is silent and serene, that is why its land is soft, that is why the wind whispers to him a song that will become life.