The cold foggy mountain pass. I walk to the ruined shrine. the cliff stones are jagged, hard and sharp. the moonlight breaks through. I can see, revealed to me, the valley spirit coming to me. She can sense, I think, my sorrow. she moves closer, I stay still. ghost-like hands, covered with tattered silk swaying in the wind. the crisp cold chilly breeze. I want to drift. I realize; she is breathing with me. "Are you real?" I ask. "Can you feel?" I dare glance at her face, ghostly pale, faded tapestry, art and serenity. beautiful black eyes. a void into a release. the mist envelopes me. a cold and ancient mystery. I am not alone, but I am isolated. desolated. she offers me her sacred duty. and I can see, crystal clear clarity, where it is she wants to take me.
