we sneak into the concourse of clouds,
in skies of blue formed of an ethereal palette.
leave dust storms in our wake while we
move forward with shadowy hills and wily roads
teasing us to our destination. here the wind gives
direction to prayers from tucked-away monasteries.
this is where we come to get lost.
on tiptoes you can touch the sky; pull off
a bit of cloud and set it on its way
like a tuft of cotton; here the world ends.
here begin roads, here you leave a bit of
you behind in wonder at every turn of the road.
it isn’t difficult; find the room with hot coffee
and a guitar and while away
while the winds rattle the windows.
here even time pauses a moment before moving on.
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an amalgam of mental images of the breathtaking beauty that i have seen during my trip to the spiti valley. serpentine roads and skies, monasteries atop hills visible from miles away, skies so blue they look photoshopped, and a silence the city living me was completely unaccustomed to. Harsh yet gorgeous, this is easily one of the best trips to the hills i have ever made.
