Slowing down again. 
Coffee with mountain clarity as the haze rolls in from the south, a bucket of clothes washing before heading down to the hot springs.
A climb back up for a rinse and soak and down for lunch and then a couple of hours catching up, charging batteries, having reiki and then a walk to the small waterfall. And on odd thing, it's path I've walked before, that certainty rising from a memory which makes no sense. 
The sun, fallen beyond the mountains, lights the sky with an array of beams cutting through the murk.
To the south tree lines shimmer upon faded blue ridges, uncertainties at play across a landscape bereft of context; hills and bonsai or mountains and deodar? In this light who can tell and what's the difference anyway?