It was cold and the full moon did not grant me sleep, but waking up with the sound of a stranger playing flute made it all better.
I popped open the window right next to my bed and stared full disbelief at the breathtaking landscape.
The early musical notes were dancing over the green mountains and I yawned myself out of my sleeping bag.

In a two-day rush I had extended my Visa, got my trekking permit and went shopping for snacks.
Before I even realized what I was doing, I embarked in a bus to Besi Sahar to go and climb a mountain.
I had no idea what awaited me. Hell, I never did a trek in my life, but you know.

The man I had met on the bus coloured the first days of my trek in all shades of green.
He brought me closer to the people, shamanism and very angry bees.

You could hear the bamboo grow while the wind was declaring the storm.
My first mountain disappeared behind a cloud and the weather was magic more than dangerous.
Her power caught me and blew away the sudden tear down my cheek.
A storm is coming, and I am coming closer to myself.
I keep on being.

My smile is above the hills to be dropped in a place in need.
There is nothing in my mind.
In this now, I am present.
The last piece is in its place.
When the rain falls, I’ll be here, receiving the magic of nature.

She moved her lived body on the rhythm of the drum.
Fed by the moon, we’ve danced for you.
Nourished by the moment, we’ve let ourselves go.

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