The Mountain Held Its Breath, and So Did I

Crossed the second pass before dawn. The sky on the other side was the wrong color — the orange that should belong to a sunset, except it was hanging there at four in the morning, and there was no sun.

I knelt for a while. Lit one of the candles I have left. I do not know if I prayed. I think I just listened.

Below in the valley, what’s left of a chapel. Roof gone. Pews still in their rows like nobody told them. I stayed the night. Marked the lintel.

If you find a candle still burning, do not put it out. It is not for you. It is not for me either. But somebody lit it, and somebody has been keeping it lit, and that is a kind of agreement we should probably honor.

— the traveler. Signed with ✦