The trail we followed
was ancient, stretching back
past the pages of history.
Now only ghosts trek
those worn, familiar steps —
and any fool curious
for new escapes to faraway
lands well beyond
the ravages of man.
The fire spits and crackles,
scattering a shower
of hot ash and embers
as a moonless sky
descends low over Lar Valley
to swaddle me in night.
Sitting here in the dark
it’s easy to imagine an old
man playing a setar,
its haunting notes
mingled with tobacco
as my guide begins to smoke.
