A Rendezvous with the Himalayas – Part 4 (The Storm)

That was unlike any journey I’ve had undertaken before, unlike anything I’ve had ever experienced before. Those views of deep chasm from the bus window still give me chills. That wallop which had me almost fly off my seat still fills me with terror. And amidst all the elements of dread, the beautiful landscapes—of sharp mountains piercing into the sky like bayonets of the gods, of snow-clad peaks shining in the sunlight like burning magnesium, of the playful drama of light and shadow unfolding on the slopes and foothills, rolling over each other like lovers making out in the wild—they still fill me with delight.


Her cheeks were wet. The tears of ecstasy were rolling from her eyes like water from the glacier.

From what I remember, soon the sun faded into the lap of shadow, and an orgasmic downpour filled the air. The pink mountains now appeared dark, the snow on their peaks no longer shimmered. The light rain soon turned into a tempest. Darkness shrouded the Valley of Laddakh, and all that could be heard were the clatter of thick hail on the roof of the bus—deafening noise it was. Emilia wiped her tears and fell into the arms of her husband.  “Such beauty…!”, she exclaimed, “It fills me with strange joy; it makes  me cry!”

The bus halted near a lake and we waited for the storm to pass.


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