Mountain Prayers


Knock, knock, knock. The bare knuckles of Robin our guide rap on the thin wooden door of our hut. It’s 5.30 in the morning and I am already awake, still in bed and watching the sky through the flimsy curtains pinken and blush as it gets ready to embrace the sun. From the toasty warmth of my sleeping bag I gingerly extricate an arm to test the temperature … it is icy cold. Continue reading