Today, I left everything behind—my house, my desires, even the warmth of my bed. The air in Quito was sharper than usual, the kind of cold that finds the tips of your fingers through fingerless gloves.
I’ll be honest with you: my knees felt the weight of the years this morning. I had to restrain myself from the climb, choosing to walk the summit instead. But once I reached the top, the descent was a different story. I raced down, past the four-story shadows of the shopping centers, leaving the busy city streets for the bridge that leads back to the heart of the Andes.
I’m sitting now by a small river, breathing in the scent of earth after a heavy rain. I’m here to fulfill a promise. I told you I would bring you a new story every week, and even when the body feels slow, the mountain demands to be written.
Stay tuned. The next story is currently being born right here, under the shadow of the peaks.