Spiti: The Valley That Whispers

 Dear Wind,

You didn’t howl.
You whispered.

In Spiti, even the mountains speak in silence.
I tried listening… and for the first time, I heard myself.

The roads were dust and danger,
but the skies — they were soft, like childhood memories.
A monk waved at me from a rooftop.
No words. Just eyes that had seen centuries pass.

At Key Monastery, prayers floated like incense.
I sat there, not asking for anything.
And yet, I received peace.

Spiti didn’t greet me.
It watched me — like it’s seen many before me,
and will watch many after.

But that one night under the Milky Way,
with only the cold and cosmos for company —
I think, just for a second, you embraced me back.

Always listening,
Vikram.