it seems obvious to write about the steep slope of the mountain
the scent of tropical flowers heavy in the air in the early morning
its poetry to describe the sense of humility in the center of a mountain so substantial
one small footstep on the ancient soil
the beauty of the clouds that seem to pass just feet above your head
a view of the blue ocean from the top of the peak
the heat so sticky like the curry in the towns in the impossible crevices of the landscape
but all I want to write is how we walked so high in the air
feeling euphoric, accomplished
only to be reminded that, even in the middle of the Indian ocean, this heavenly island is French:
as the other hikers took a breakfor coffee and cigarettes.
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