They came here pushed by harsh climate changes thousands of years ago. They traveled south following the gentlest breezes, intuition or instinct, who knows if the spirit of a few who dared to fly high or walk far. The Yamnayas had to cross the world, cross frozen rivers, forests full of fear, ice mountains, and sharp boulder fields. In contrast, the cranes embraced the Siberian winds, aided by constant anticyclones and the invincible strength of always going together, drawing an arrow at cloud level, always pointing a little further, always further.
We were all migrants, them and us. Perhaps we will be again tomorrow. Who knows. Only these stones remain of them, which drew magic, proposed questions to the sky, and answers about death in a language that has been lost. Their descendants, us, built a road here a few years ago, traveled in cars instead of horses, and built science to understand the stars, the earth, or the almond trees. But they still use wings, that invincible force of being a group, family, horde or tribe, of knowing the favorable winds, the steppes full of food, the shine of the rivers or the stars to orient themselves day and night.
Indo-European tribes. Yamnayas, Vettones, and before others and others and others … and before the cranes, but all driven by the Günz, Mindel, Riss, and Würm glaciations, remote periods with names of Danube tributaries, an occurrence of geographers, glaciologists, and climatologists Albrecht Penck and Eduard Bruckner back in 1909. The last ice began to melt around 10,000 BC and perhaps soon the poles will be erased or perhaps the blizzards will return.
The next migration will also be climate-related.
The weather, the road, the distance that had to be always stepped on was our nomadic home and the hut, the house, the dolmen, or the cave a provisional refuge, a temporary rest, a den in the meantime, a dubious homeland. Cranes and humans, migrants always in search of a better life in the south or north. Brothers and sisters on the road, wanderings and dreams, sharing winters, acorns, and fogs, sacred stones and meadows, sun and plains where the green cereal peeks out that will become bread, tender grass, and adventurous flowers of wild almonds, still bitter, resistant, free.
Ramón J. Soria Breña
| Season 2. Chapter5 | Migraciones de invierno |
| Recording date | Frebuary 2020 |
| Duration | 2:24 minutes |
| Date of issue | Frebruary 21, 2020 |
| Location | Dehesas |
| Municipality | Las Ventas de San Julian, Azután, Toledo. España |
| Image and sound | Ernesto Cardoso |
| Edition | Ernesto Cardoso |
| Opusculum | Ramón J. Soria |
| Music | Speaker joy |
| Song | Blue dot session |
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