AKA the first mountains of July. The train ride didn't even feel long anymore, and upon arriving we were met with the bustle of markets and crowds out and about for the school holidays. We marvelled at how crisp the air felt against our lungs while walking down to the cascades - probably one of my favourite things from the day. It wasn't as quiet as last time; families walked around us and children ran after each other. A girl tripped and fell face forward, crying as her mum picked her up.
Following a different trail took us to a quieter lookout where we just sat for a while. We could see the tiny people standing where we were before, and white birds that stood out against the dark trees. The sun had begun its descent and the harsh light hitting the edge of the curved mountain ridges made for the harshest contrast in our photos (it was hilariously frustrating though when we still tried to take a decent photo). We could see the mountains stretch far towards the horizon and slowly blend into it, becoming lighter and lighter and then just becoming the sky.
We walked back, half following the path we took last time. We were transfixed by a stone wall and the idea of someone meticulously placing each stone down. The smell of wood fire found us and stirred up memories of your uncle's farm, my family's camping trips, Glenbrook. Nearby campfires flickering in between the gaps of the trees as we walked through the night. My heart has been mercilessly captured by the mountains and I am ok with that.
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