Finally we can stand up, stretching out to squeeze any lingering stiffness from our tired limbs as we lean into the bracing wind. Leaving the bags with the tent, we can now walk a short distance to relieve our bladders of a full night of inactivity.
“Mountains, like men, have their history. They too are born, grow old, decay and die. ‘Do they also love?’ A character from Mosca might ask. No, of course they don’t love. But they are loved, and with what love!”