Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,

For I would ride with you upon the wind,

Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,

And dance upon the mountains like a flame.

– W.B. Yeats, The Land of Heart’s Desire

We stray too far, in the simple act of subsistence that seems almost like a quest more often than not, and it is that onerous knotty fabric that the mountains tend to untangle and are therefore sought so fervently, with more and more flocking to the outdoors… what happens there?… in a nutshell, one could say a lustration of the senses… a general dampening of the din of civilization and a fresh perspective on corporality…

And while traipsing in thin air, perhaps there is nothing more pleasing to the eye than the sight of snow… not the one covering the surrounds and leaping for the muddy boots with a soft crackle that can compel one to question their sense of grip and balance, but that finding its abode on those summits dotting the horizon, sitting sombrely on the crown or tucking itself in the recesses tracing white lines across the face… that is the snow one aspires for from a distance, but finds his demons in while seeking proximity…

It is like a beacon, the first sight of snow peeping out from the constructs of the treeline or revealing itself after an elongated footslog through the moraine… and the glimpse unleashes a steady trickle of conflicting emotions… to go any nearer could be foolhardy or valiant, to retreat a reverence to the elements or cowardice… the waters are pure yet pernicious… the smells are sweet but the wind wicks away any warmth… 

But back in the city, as the weather turns muggy and the smog gnaws away at the bronchioles with a refreshed glutton, the memory of that white crest restores calm over inundation, a sense of sanity one hopes to carry on till transience…

musings on snow, hiking in Himachal and Uttarakhand