Sunlight crashing against the curtains, the blur of what passes for the early morning world appearing brighter, the scent of coffee sharpening senses, allowing the daily clamber up the evolutionary ladder, cognisant if not coherent. Looking out the window confirming my suspicion that the rain may have stopped, hills shifting from blue grey to blue grey green, the air clear enough to pick out the shifting tones of vegetation upon slopes and summits, shapes reflecting light, outlines of temples and pockets of residences. The wind's warm, cyclical, from the north on the street as I cycle into it but the clouds are drifting north, caught on a southerly breeze, the air warm and humid.

Back upon the mountain the paths are busy, pavilions and viewpoints overflowing with people, I don't think that I've ever seen it so busy up here, but it defines my route, the realisation that my mood is set towards some kind of solitude, space to think away from the flow of the surrounding city. From the edge of the path I see prayer flags fluttering in the distance, waving upon the wind, the sound of dogs barking and howling rising from below, roads curving around slopes. Descending to the temple of crazed Buddhas and the goddess of mercy, following the road, looking for the array of prayer flags but unable to find them. As I walk along the edge of a gulley I'm startled by an eagle swooping and rising, circling upon currents and gliding nature upon the edge of the city, disappearing beyond the hills as I fumble for a longer lens.

Returning downhill I hear the sound of music, stumble upon a school orchestra playing, their audience sitting in neat rows upon the playground, stop and listen for a while before moving on until the final refrains begin mingling with the sound of Karaoke spilling out of a roadside shack, the open door revealing tables, figures eating. Opposite a sign makes the offer of 100 dollar haircuts, a row of structures along the edge of the road, corrugated iron walls and roofs sheltering faded posters, dogs curled up behind makeshift doors and gates. It looks both abandoned and in use, a shanty or a roadside market, neither or both, but it shudders in juxtaposition with the emergence of a huge temple, on the opposite side of the road, rising up two or three levels, radiating wealth in marble relief, in the artistic vision beyond its gates, guarded by a couple of bored and distracted figures. And the street winds on, radiating narrow alleys, a sprinkle of tables upon their edges, small stalls selling cheap sustenance to the weathered figures seated around them.



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DmwHHUsWM_M