Pão de Açúcar (em inglês...)

He looked up. A combination of amazement, fear and determination. The rock was gigantic, casting a long shadow that covered the Sun from him, involving him in darkness and absorbing all the sound. A sudden gust of wind brushed through his hair, pushing its black hair up, and wrinkling his loose jacket. Only the spoon on his right hand stood against the wind, standing as a statue against the gust.

He said a little silent prayer, his lips moving softly to the rythm of words and heart and hope. When we looked again, his eyes were made of steel. And he lept forward, a strong willed run to the mountain.

Climbing a giant barehanded, with a big spoon on your back is not easy. Especially such a steep one. Especially one with such a soul. He could swear he could feel the giant's heart beating, his breath, moving along the wind, the way the green trees on the mountain back seemed to fight to keep him away. He didn't back away. He didn't look down. Up was the way.

And then he reached the top! Exausted he fell on his knees, looking to the bay below his eyes, looking to the city that was looking up at him, the city that called it a folly, a madness, without purpose, a vain moment of pride. How could they know! A man has to prove who he is! And this proved him!

Then, suddenly, he heard it. The mountain. The voice of the giant. Gentle. It was talking with him, in a smooth and determined tone - a tone ladden with wisdom and years beyond the Earth. And it asked him what he was doing there? He looked at the spoon and at all the sweetness at his feet, he answered was there to have a taste of it, of its body, of the giant's skin. And the giant smiled, and asked again why did he come? What did he wanted to proof? What could he proof, harming a good giant that had seen his parents birth, his won birth, that knew the songs he was sang at craddle, the football he played with his friends, the name of all of them, that had seen pride take over his heart, a pride that degenerated on a madness for sugar and hard fought statements, a bitterness that came from all his soul had loosed in some twist of life? And then, the giant, with this words, lifted a huge hand, and, smoothly, gently, took a bit of sugar from his own body - "There is nothing as an offer of sugar to bring peace to a troubled soul. And there is nothing as a friend to accept that offer and watch the sun get down on the sea together with me." And he looked at the giant, at its sweet and wise smile. And understood the anger in his own heart.

The sun rose again. And tumbled into the ocean and rose from the land 5 more. All that time, they spent it talking. The foolish and brave boy and the wise giant made of sugar. When he came down, he felt a new man. A lighter one. A sweeter one.

Who would say a batholith was such a wise huge mountain made out of sugar?

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