A million colours, a million thoughts...

My first responsibility is to myself. I haven't been out for weeks and above all I haven't been out on my own for months... perhaps, if I think about it properly, I haven't been out on my own for years!
The longer I sit at work, the more I feel as if the blood is clotting in my veins, my muscles are shrivelling up and my head is getting lost in pointless processing. So, given that first of all I have to think about feeling good myself … I decide to go out... I decide to go walking. Wherever it may be...

The gravel road in front of me winds along the north-western ridge of the Serra di Celano. You climb slowly, without too much effort. To get back into exercise and move about a bit, this kind of gravel road is ideal.

When you walk you think a million thoughts, many of them will be lost for ever, others will resurface as memories, sentences thought up, cut off from any context and devoid of meaning.
I took notes as I walked, because my head seemed able to give me more than I expected. It's nice to rediscover, step after step, that you're still lucid, that you can still manage to think something almost intelligent...

Most of the things you think while you walk have the sound of music, they seem like illuminating aphorisms... ooooh I know them well, those sentences along the lines of: “in the mountains you feel more alive...” They're wonderful sentences, but they're just sentences... plucked out of thin air, just … for fun.
You come up with sentences like this all the time; for an overthinker like me it's almost normal.
But what about practice? Where's the practice, real life made of things done, real things, not thought or imagined? Where's life tried out on your own skin? Where's the tiredness felt in your  muscles? Where are the right and wrong choices.

Today, putting one foot in front of the other... there... this is... a thing done, real, not thought but, how shall I put it... “enacted”, “carried out”...

Over time I got lost in the meanders of theoretical reflection and lost the mountains... that's what happened to me.
And I'm glad to be in this place walking, simply, with no double meanings and no ulterior motives.
Just the one regret of being alone here... and of not being able to share this warm sun and this fresh, clean air with some friend, male or female, who'd be happy to exchange a word, a laugh, a look, a smile.

I've said it before... the mountains are just a “cold, inhospitable heap of stones”; you can be fine there on your own now and then for more demanding reflections, but on the whole it's much better to come in a group, with friends, with family.

I leave the gravel road at a drinking trough and turn left to pick up the line of a hump that climbs towards the eastern ridge of the Serra di Celano.

The meadow grasses, at this end of autumn, are dry by now. A few thistles still in flower emerge with their pink colour from this sea of dry grass. Above everything stand out the thousand shades of the dog rose and its ripe hips. Leaves from bright green to dark green, from red to orange, from pink to deep purple. There are leaves that shift from green to an improbable blue.

These are autumn's gifts, the colours that fill your heart. No season can do with colours what autumn does every year. Even the bare Serra di Celano can offer the infinite shades of autumn colour.

I keep climbing up to the eastern ridge, which overlooks the gorges below. You can't see the bottom of the chasm. I've been on nearby Monte Etra; from that summit the view is far more impressive. I remember, it was the day I decided to take back my identity.
It was really hard, but healthy.

Stop being cryptic, and just walk... - I think.

At last the final stretch, I climb along the clearly visible path among small rocks and ups and downs to reach the summit quickly. The sun is shining in the sky. I asked for nothing more. I take a few photos, not even that many, perhaps I don't even care that much any more.
I stretch out in the sun in a priceless moment of relaxation.

During the hike I did an experiment... I posted a few photos on Facebook. While I was doing it I felt ridiculous. It's my first hike in “Social Network” mode.
The experiment is done... OK... it's a colossal piece of crap!
What's the  point... seeing that in the end I was alone like an idiot and couldn't talk to anyone? What's the point? What's the point!
It'll be the first and last time I do something like this... a waste of time... better to use the time to fill your soul. If you really feel lonely you can always phone a friend who wants to know how it went …

There, time's up, it's time to go home; my family and midweek commitments call me back to order.

But I've come back, yes, I've come back... I've come back with my rucksack full, yes... because now I remember, yes … now I remember why I love coming to the mountains!