There is an otherworldly silence at five thousand feet, even squirrels move like humbled monks but who is it that they don’t want to disturb? There is sanctity, a holy milieu, a hundred shades of green and brown competing and a preponderance of, “This is the footstool of God’s throne.” Alpine winter breathes hard across lichen covered stone tables like a drunkard exclaiming heartache, tall peaks preside, looking down, there is no chiding or disdainful look, just granite wisdom with silvery highlights and the eagle calls all to worship where the pines whisper.Follow Vishal Dutia on WordPress.com
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