Fifth Journey Day 91: Echo That Fell from the Rock

Date: August 7, 2025
Location: Osh, Kyrgyzstan

I climbed Suleiman-Too this morning — not all the way, but enough. I could feel the mountain's heat through my fingertips, and the silence felt different when you're above a city. I stopped often, but I wasn't out of breath. I was more quiet and careful. The path curved and narrowed. I sat where the rock had the imprint of old steps, and I let my sketchbook rest on my lap. I didn't draw much. The lines didn't want to stay in place.

Below, the city moved at a slow, steady pace. The sound of a call to prayer, the sound of a motorbike, and the occasional bark of a dog that is too far away to see. But mostly it was the wind — dry, wide, and restless — skimming over me and carrying that dusty, warm, sun-scented air that always reminds me of early afternoons in places that are already forgetting your name.

I didn't talk to anyone today. Not completely. A nod to the woman near the shrine. I stopped at the shop to buy apricots and walnuts. The rest of it was inward — not in a heavy way, just folded. I noticed that the mountain always cast short shadows, even at noon. The dust settled gently on my wrists. The apricots were so ripe that their skin split right before I bit into them.

There was a moment when a leaf, already brittle, skittered past me across the stone. I focused more on the sound than the movement. I'll remember that sound.

The evening got cold fast. I washed my face with water from a chipped bowl, and it smelled a little bit of iron. I'll stay here tomorrow — there's no need to move yet. The silence here doesn't feel oppressive. It listens.