Hiking to the mountain hut
Time may have a different meaning at high altitudes. The hours are marked by hiking boot stamps on the roots, on the dirt, on the rocks of paths that from thick woods emerge towards the light of valleys and the dazzling screes. The thoughts get lighter and lighter, you start breathing with ease and deeply. The head is free. The heart, too. The sunset has vast horizons above the crown of the mountain peaks. The colors are more clear. The same rocks of a handful of hours before take on new, incredible nuances. You wait for the night. A simple and caloric dinner, to be shared with well-known and unknown companions. Different languages, a deck of cards or a typographic map, a beer mug or a coffee, an environment and emotions to tell, similar objectives. The comfort of a simple bed, which resets values and priorities. The sleep. A new dawn, a new day to live together or to walk in solitude, on the path of many. Not on everyone’s path.