The mountain is mother to us. We nurture our village in her shadow. Our children grow up peering at her peaks. From her streams we drink, and catch the fat salmon that flock there. We weave fabrics from the wild cotton and dye them with the flowers that cling to her rocks. In the summer she shields us from the harsh light of the indifferent sun and in the winter she is the bulwark against the terror of the winds.
The mountain is all we have in this desperate and violent world. She is creator, guardian, and guide. She is hungry. Always she is hungry.
So in the depths of the autumn, when the season of decay is in full bloom, we send the old into her embrace. We never see them again.
We don't know if this pleases the mountain. We don't know what will happen if we stop. So on and on we send them away, to keep us safe, and growing, and happy.
Paddy Dobson
27th March 2022