Peaks and valleys

by Benja Blaschke (Egypt)

A leap into the unknown France

Her footprints trailed off, somewhere on a path towards the mountain’s peaks. Her hiking boots swirled up the dust. It spoke of a drought, a period of unfulfilled longing. I began to taste it in my mouth. It seemed to mix with the air engulfing her. A new smell emerged. Rain. A change. A change I, too, began to feel. She embodied what I envisioned to be a world nomad. I did not know her name, nor her origin, her purpose or the path she was taking. Only that she was on a journey towards something. Or someone. Searching. The quiet of the mountains is scary. It is only broken by the melodic chirping of the birds, the crunching of the sand under your hiking boots, and your own gasping for air as you make your way towards the peak. It’s scary. The higher you reach. You are forced to think, perhaps about things you wish to remain unthought of. And yet, the quiet of the mountains forces you to overcome that fear. That fear of thinking. What else are you to do, other than think? She may find the answers to her questions once she reaches the peak or once she takes off her hiking boots at the end of the path. Perhaps, she will never find them. I knew then that I had to discover my own peaks and valleys. Perhaps the mountain I would climb, the wind I would feel, the rain I would taste, or the dust I would smell would whisper to me what I was searching for. My longing for answers was growing. I was only ever to catch a glimpse, a feeling, a taste, a smell of them if I grabbed my own hiking boots and climbed my peak. Till this day, I have climbed many. And each time, fragments of answers have been revealed. But only fragments. My journey continues, up another peak, aiming for the next. It is not yet complete. Just like hers. She, too, was thinking. Thinking about the peak ahead of her. Her home on her back, her mind beyond the path.