We have been going through a difficult time in our history.
Perhaps a period in which the impotence in face of so many tragedies, human attacks, natural catastrophes has become our daily bread. Difficult to swallow.
This day was no different. A little more than a year ago, the fires around a city that had just welcomed me, left me in the excitement that something was out of place and much should be done.
Around Braga, four fires were burning!
I always had a kind of controlled panic at the slightest sign of smoke on the horizon or the burning smell. Perhaps because of the memory I have kept since I was a little girl, returning from Viseu with my parents, of crossing a road lined with a burning forest.
I have flashes of that day. And even if there is no record, it remained in my memory not obeying the will for it to leave. And feeding this my almost-paranoia about fires.
On this day we woke up early to head north, where another story awaited us.
Along the way, I was exclaiming the charm of the landscape and the desire to return to photograph the wild and incredible places that the sunrise was offering. A kind of mystery revealed at every ray of sunshine.
After crossing the Pinhal de Leiria, still green and laden with mists and many miles with the will to remember forever what I just saw, I found Braga with several fires around, always with a tight heart, always looking at the horizon fearing the worse, but promising to do my best so that the ashes that were falling didn't have any impact on the challenge to which I set myself.
I ground the hope in their history.
Their story. And ours. We started discovering the exchange of glances, the shy touch and we made sure that only together they made sense.
We were delighted by the place with an incredible view all around, never losing sight of the column of smoke that was rising.
With this story, we discovered Braga in a different way. The life on the streets even on a Sunday night, the sympathy of the people who welcomed us so well, the landscape... and a heart full of a sense of belonging feeling that, once there, that place was already a little bit ours. And a little bit of us was burning in front of our impotence.
Today, after so many tragedies, impotence and hours of despair we wish that the only flame that still burns is this.
That these stories of life and love overlap the tragedy.
Let new trees be planted, yes, but never forgetting to cultivate the love for the neighbor.
Today their story is here, a light to my eyes, tired of seeing so sad images.
