In Search for the Horizon

Black bird was flying to a leafless tree. Colorful flags tied to the monastery, flew people pray to nirvana. White peaks surrounded the tenements. Even the coldest wind did not stop the old lady from weaving yak’s yarn in the yard. The temperature was far below zero, yet they called it spring. The land was dry along the journey. No rain, only cloud. No one expected this coming. “The snow fell last night, thick snow!” the man told me. “I have never seen snow in my life,” I answered.

I touched the white ice on the table. It’s not as cold as I though it will be. People here have seen the snow all their life. They just complained about the cold. Coming from a tropical paradise, my country only have summer. The scenic white is a miraculous dream. If this happen in my country, then it’s high alert of global warming.

It was a quite morning. The shoes soaked into the snow. I can hear my footsteps. It was wet I know, I just wanted to step on it. The wind rumbled in my ear. White blocked all the view. It’s now the color of everyone’s roof.

After flying to the most dangerous airport in the world, it’s time to meet the earth’s highest mountain. As the temperature dropped, my red cheek made people talked to me in Nepalese language. They portrayed me as Sherpa. Seeing my face on the mirror, I’m not surprised.

The new snow coupled with bright sun. I was standing high on earth and blinded by the shiny white. “Everest, Lhotse, and Amadablam,” he said. The white peaks surrounded by the bluest sky and extreme wonders. The snow-capped Mount Everest topped with a peculiar phenomenon called “Flag Cloud”. World’s mountaineers were busy taking pictures of their achievement. A tick in life experience bucket lists.

Wild white horse coming towards me. The entire animal’s fur here is thicker than you know. Its calm gesture reminds me of the wild horse I rode down the cliff.

The snow fell from a pine tree to on top of my head as I walk to the museum. No light as the film rolled which told the story of Himalaya.

In the underground room, I shivered. Masala tea with milk woke me up from the drowsy feeling. I needed to adapt my body to the snow. So I slept on it for a while.
The white stair was becoming Small River. The ice melted and run through the hill. The sun swept the snow.

It’s a goodbye to me, but a joy for Kathmandu Valley. Snow melting in the Himalaya means storage to electricity-starved people in the lower land. It was a brief encounter.