Today I dreamed of mountains, so close and far away, just a couple of hours away from me. And I woke up in the middle of the night with a nagging feeling that I had wanted to spend a couple of weekends there, but I dodn't have time.
We do not always have enough time to carry out our plans. Sometimes it even causes a paradox. We think a lot about what we want to do, and how to do it, and what is needed for this. As a result, our desire becomes more complicated and acquires so many serious nuances that require even more time that we have to hide such a monster away, somewhere in the plans of a grandiose vacation, where, as it seems to us, there will be enough time ... but will not...
So I just decided to reduce my expectations and turn my trip not into a long hike, but into a short bike ride. Sometimes it's better to get a little than to chase for more and get nothing.
The mountains greeted me with night silence and silence. This early or too late time is always magical. Probably we are humans, the only beings who can observe nature at any hour we like, breaking the circadian rhythms. And we see things that may not have been intended for us.
It is an interesting feeling to realize that you have woken up before the mountains, these ancient giants who have ruled for millions of years on this earth. Now they are not so formidable, they do not catch clouds with their peaks, they do not trap the fierce wind in their narrow passages, and even the smallest pebble on their slopes is motionless.
I like how gently the sun begins to wake them up, playfully coloring the highest peaks in golden shades. With a light kiss, as a lover wakes up a traveler who returned home late at night.
The time of the polar days is coming to the end, and these two, the sun and the mountains, are no longer seen each other around the clock. That's why their meetings look so romantic. This is a very short interval between night and day here, which lasts only half an hour, abruptly and unexpectedly turning into day.
On the way back I meet an early bird, not as early as me, but still. A mountain partridge is here instead of a rooster. When she sees me, she announces the neighborhood with loud shouts.
At first I don't quite understand her reaction, they usually hide quickly and silently. But then I heard the squeaks of chicks from the foot of the stone. Without disturbing the young mother, I descend into the awakened forest to return to the car..
One of my favorite sections of the forest route. A narrow log bridge over a turquoise lazy river. Upstream, it boils furiously, forming from hundreds of small streams that flow out of mountain lakes. But here a point of harmony is reached…
As in my mind, which fantasized about an almost impossible long hike, and built vivid images that stir the heart with future emotions from an unlikely event. But as always, it turned out that you just have to move...
