The mountains rising hazily, the camera lens picking up a blue tinge as clouds drift across ridges and cloak summits, beams of dusty light falling upon the green slopes below.
The anxiety a little further receded if not quite gone, that sense of scale remains, the occasional comprehension of . These mountains, young as they are by geological standards, cast a spell and, today, the occluded air changes perspective, almost as if that frieze is viewed through 3D glasses. 

For all this, what is the mountain god like?

Breakfast at the sister's place and an offer of local wine later, down to the bus stand and half an hour sitting in a stationary bus.
Down the hill to Rekong Peo where, over samosa chaat and ras malai, the anxiety returns in a wave of sweat and suppression, palate and eyes suddenly dulled by the descent into the cyclical dark.
Stood by the bus stand, J clutching to a box of sweets as if his firstborn or the philosopher's stone, there's a call of hello, recognition, the offer of a lift up the hill from two of the sisters. An act of kindness to disperse the fug.
Back in Kalpa the receding tide, the day resumed with the realisation that Spiti probably isn't going to happen, that maybe in the journey to Rekong Peo I've found my limit. 
On the balcony another windy afternoon takes shape, gusts howling banshee like as windows rattle and the guttering vibrates, finding myself wishing I was listening to it from my tent, wondering if I've gone mad. 
Then an evening meal at the sister's place, Flower and Deepa there, Sandeep from Mumbai with a bandaged wrist, an offer of reiki, more reiki for the sisters and a promise to give some to their mother tomorrow as Deepa offers us a fresh lassi from local milk. And then the night passes in talk and laughter, Rekong Peo another lifetime ago as we walk back to the homestay through the village dark. 
From the balcony the shape of mountains, the clear air unveiling a panoply of stars amidst broken cloud, adjusted eyes assembling snowy peaks and gulleys beneath, another transformation, this mystical or mythical place now wearing a mantle of brightening cloud, backlit ridges illuminated by the hidden moon.