March 14, 2025

We sang high in the mountains, where the yeti huffs. We weaved our story in a divine prophecy to come. We were the tales hidden in the myths. Our moments, a culture to be passed. Generations of faith kneaded our threads. We believed that the himalayas will hum our tradition. Because we believed, I too milked the love of our herds.  Our bonds are meant to be retold in scripture, but why am I frightened by this cold. In our rituals, the fog was not meant to be seen. So, why has it covered me? Is it only me?