Winter! Mother!
Is it for me that you have sent her,
Your last Blizzard?
Is it my name your winds are screaming
At my threshold?
Is it your lullaby I hear outside my window?
Or is it not?
I know it’s not – it is already spring
Winter! Mother!
Is it for me that you have sent her,
Your last Blizzard?
Is it my name your winds are screaming
At my threshold?
Is it your lullaby I hear outside my window?
Or is it not?
I know it’s not – it is already spring
4. 11. 2009, The Everest Region of Nepal. Climbing towards Lobuche.
The trail is going up again.
My head aches so much that the Wonderland around me turns into an all-consuming abyss.
I stumble again, and again, and again.
I choke on icy dust.
Up above I glimpse something not unlike a rainbow in the faraway sky.
Prayer-flags. With rocks underneath.
A memorial to those who died climbing the peaks of Wonderland.
Each rock at this stone cemetery stands for a life.
The cemetery stretches as far as the eye can see.
It is all of Wonderland.
Stones and ghosts.
Which am I?