“We had to cross a river. Those small springs born on the Andean peaks plummet down, unload their vertiginous, crushing power, run into waterfalls, tear up land and rocks with the energy and speed gathered in those staggering altitudes. But this time we came upon a pool, a huge mirror of water, a ford. The horses went in, lost their footing, and swam to the other side. My mount was soon almost totally covered by the water, I began to sway unsteadily, my drifting feet thrashed about, while the animal struggled to keep its head above water.” (from ‘Conjieso que he vivido: Memorias’, Pablo Neruda)
running the whole length of the horizon...