Of the High Places

The day before yesterday I made an attempt to dream lucidly, to set an intention before sleep and follow it in my dreams.
All I dreamed of was a school, in which I had a major piece of homework and lacked time to complete it. Then I learned I didn't actually have to attend lessons per se, so made the decision to stay home (wherever that was) and get it done.

It tickled me.

Yesterday I finally went for that walk I promised myself; things to recall, swan nesting on the island in the little lake, its mate patrolling the water, the huge heron so still among the reeds, a real fisher king ... So much birdsong everywhere! I was too meandering, taking much time to cover little ground, but eventually found myself higher up breathing air fresh with gorse-scent. Didn't get to my original destination, but found the road needed for next time (of course I could use a map, but where's the fun in that?) I like high places, mountains and hills, light and air and a big sky. Can't work out whether I love them more than the sea. The perfect combination would be both, but yesterday was perfection enough. Watching the hills to the North, I found myself wondering why they seemed so much more enigmatic than the Himalayas as I remember them, and decided it might be the mistiness of their edges blending into the sky. By contrast, I recall the Annapurnas bright and clear, white edges sharp as cut paper against a deep blue beyond. I particularly liked the look of Machapuchare, the fish tail mountain, brilliant in the sun. I didn't known then that it was sacred to the Gurungs as well as one of the homes of Shiva, that to climb it is forbidden. I only knew you could walk up there and never come back and the mountain would keep smiling.