Four in the morning on the balcony attempting to photograph the moonlit mountains, driven from my room by a return of the night terrors, all plans paused, Spiti retreating further into the murk.
Some sleep found, morning light upon fresh snow, thoughts of the bus south, to Vashisht or, in extremis, Delhi. But first to get through today and tonight, test proximity whether it's aberration or renewal. 
But the days move on regardless, this one bright and clear, revealing the changed mountains, yesterday's bright snow lower, across the shoulders of the treeline. 
Thoughts slowing in the constantly changing familiarity of the village, a web of anxiety in my lower gut, vultures circling in the guise of thought, a sense of distances between day and self. 
A day of walks, the village rising and falling, the first grape sizes apples upon branches, apricots growing, these orchards topped and surrounded by the snowy peaks of the Himalaya.
And there's an accompanying weariness which seems to flow from more than a single sleepless night while those doubts which follow whisper of unquiet dreams. 
But then there another amazing dal followed by reiki at the sister's place, a final night on the balcony with J and when sleep arrives it's in the guise of rest.