A full nights sleep, rising into chilled air, J on the balcony looking at the misted weight of the early morning light spilling down the mountains. Yesterday's already a question, a brief nightmare which seems to be fading in the misty mountain light. 
Sitting on the balcony, eyes closed, the sound of running water, birdsong and cows mooing in the distance, feeling the wind stirring, diluting the heat of the mountain sun as it slowly rises towards the afternoon gale.
To the sister's place for breakfast, Deepa offering to make rajma for J later, then off towards suicide point and beyond to Rogie and it's beautiful temple, walking through the realisation that this is the road which terrified me last time I was in Rekong Peo, the detour which even on foot has a few moments where there's a feeling of exposure, of vulnerability, to the distances above and below.
Arriving in Roghi and making our way down through the village to the temple, the sound of wooden wind chimes, the intricacies of the carvings adorning the wooden walls. Half an hour to pause, this place set upon the mountainside almost enough to justify the bus journey. Almost. 

Back in Kalpa another head massage and then a wander to the balcony to look at the mountains, peaks and gulleys streaked with veins of rose quartz as the sun falls and shadows clamber across the trees, fresh snow on the last sunlit heights tumbling down into the dulled grey of old snowfalls and the dark water flowing down to the valley floor.