Haibun
The Path
A dozen of us,
including my younger sister, have been hiking for a week in the
Western Caucasus' region of Donbai, a Russian Switzerland, as
they say, located in the republic of Karachayevo-Cherkessia,
near Russia’s border with Abkhazia.
We reach a rocky ground, already knowing we are lost. Now, how
to descend? There is a rather steep slope to one side of us,
and, in the middle of it, a straight path leading down. I
volunteer to go there and investigate what type of a path it is.
Slowly, I move towards my destination and finally can see it
well. It's a rockfall track! The ground under my feet is very
unstable too. I stop, look back at the group's anxious faces and
yell, "It's a rockfall!"
Downwards,
a mountain path
made by falling rocks...
I am stuck half-way, afraid
to make another step.
The hiking group is
not equipped for emergencies, and I cannot stay here forever!
One tiny, half-sure step... another... I'm inching back...
back... Voices of joy—
and my sister's tight hug envelops me. How good it is that it
was not she who took the risk.
We decide to retrace our steps—the
shadows move slowly into darkness.
A valley camp—
our kinship with the moon
in the tent's opening...
