第78章　山小屋での三日間

A small mountain hut, three thousand meters up, is an unforgettable place to spend a few days. From its tiny window, one can peer across a vast horizon of distant peaks. At dawn, the entire view is bathed in pure light. The air is impossibly refreshing, and a long calm reflects across every silent rock and slope.

The climb to the summit had not been easy. Each obstacle on the trail — a wet boulder, a thin crossing — had asked us to lean carefully on our walking sticks and continue.

Yet such hardships hardly compare to the moment one finally arrives. To grasp the size of the surrounding range is to embrace something larger than ordinary life. A decade has passed since my first trip to this hut, yet the mountain has hardly changed. Some peaks resemble exactly what I drew in a quiet sketchbook all those years ago.

We spent the daytime in modest activity. We would wander through nearby trails, glance at small wildflowers between boulders, and pause to reflect on how briefly we passed through these stones.

Each evening did not cease its slow magic. The sun fell behind a distant ridge; the air grew sharp; we retained nothing but a calm we could carry home like a fragile gift. When we finally walked back down to the village, our backs ached and our shoes were torn. Yet our minds had absorbed something pure. We had peered, even briefly, across the long horizon of the world itself.