The majestic red mountains. I had just summited them. I did not tame them, nay, I had simply monkeyed up and perched on top.

I had neither conquered nor had been conquered. 

As I sat atop the ‘dune’ in bliss, from the physical effort of getting there, I felt the breeze caressing my face, my mind emptying and a strange stirring within, the beginning of a release. I cycled back downhill. Wings took shape. Where once they had been tied down by circumstances, they hesitantly spread out and I learnt to fly, once again.

The mountains speak to you, you’ll see, they said. The desert is a fountain of life, they said. Take a trip alone, they said. You will find yourself and come back with new understanding, they said.