Just one more day. 
A cold wind blowing up the valley, scraps of low cloud to the north, eagles circling. These enchanted mountains, summits clad in shining cloud, fresh snow above grey gulleys while, from below, ambient swells of sound float upon the song of the constant river. 
And it's time to leave. 
Sitting on a rock beneath the small waterfall watching a shepherd on his way down the hill, a flock of sheep following. 
Being still, watching and listening, remembering to breathe, it's that kind of place. 
But the wheel turns.