Chaski of Keros

On the road this afternoon, I passed a young woman walking in the opposite direction. There was no rush in her step. She moved with a quiet sense of purpose, carrying a woven bag at her side, and as we drew closer, I caught sight of two keros tucked carefully inside.

I slowed after we passed each other and glanced back. I wondered where she was taking them and who was waiting for her at the other end of the road. Perhaps someone had made them and entrusted her with their delivery. Perhaps they were needed for a ceremony or gathering somewhere beyond the mountains. I would never know, but something about the care with which she carried them made their destination feel important.

She walked as though arriving mattered, but so did what arrived with her. The keros were not simply objects being transported from one place to another. They would eventually be held in someone else's hands, filled, raised, shared, and become part of whatever relationship or ceremony awaited them.

I watched until the road curved and she disappeared behind the hillside. I had seen another Chaski move with tremendous urgency, but her journey carried a different kind of importance. Nothing needed to happen quickly. Whatever waited at the other end of her path, she was carrying something meant to be shared.