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Robin
I had to force myself to go. In spite of the summer heat dew had fallen in the night. Only now in the early morning, as the suns rays pierced the wood, did it evaporate; it was as humid as in the tropics. I breathed loudly and heavily, my thighs burning.
As I reached the line of trees a mighty rock face rose above the world to meet me. It looked as though it had been drawn with pencil. I discovered two dots, right at the top of the Staff (that's what it's called in Carinthia), which moved, barely perceptibly. I walked along the foot of the mountain to enter at its back. Like a ring fighter dancing around his opponent. Fuschia pink alpine rose grew here and there; the tinkling of a cowbell jangled past my ears, caught in gust of wind.
Panting I arrived at the ridge. Above me hung the summit of the Staff, still far off in the distance. I let my eyes wander: this was the reward for my hardships. Alpine pastures unfolded before me. The valley was painted in soft green tones giving the impression of being on the Mongolian steppe. Blotches of shadow flit and scurried and high above and in the distance a herd of sheep grazed.
I listened to the silence around me. As I closed my eyes I could hear my heartbeat. The longer I kept my lids shut the more intensely I looked forward to the moment I would open them again.
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a bitter-masculine chord of bergamot and douglas pine, strong and balanced with a ne lemony freshness of petitgrain lime and a warm, spicy base of coriander seeds and patchouli
