by Cooper Franks
Amongst the Alpet Shqiptare, or the Albanian Alps, I was alone. Completely and utterly alone. And when you are adrift in a sea of solitude, with no specific direction, you sometimes find yourself in unexpected places. No matter where I turned, I could not get a proper heading. The sun seemed to disappear behind the mountains, a cruel game of hide and seek, so I could not figure out which way was north. No wonder why some people called these peaks and valleys the Accursed Mountains. The winds whispered. The trees ridiculed. The birds gossiped. The mountains looked down upon me. I needed to find refuge from their gaze. So I hiked to the tallest peak. Meticulously, and painstakingly, I made it to the top. And there, sandwiched between two rocky cliffs, was a town. A beautiful collection of picturesque houses, like one of those architectural models, neatly organized and pristine. Wisps of smoke twirling from the chimneys. The smell of byrek riding along the mountain breeze. And miniature people shuffling along the tree-lined streets. I practically tumbled down the mountain, imagining a fresh fire and a warm cup of coffee presented by an old Albanian lady. Yet as I approached the town, a fog crept forward, covering the houses, the people, and even the aroma of peta and gjizë. The closer I came to the town, the thicker the fog became. The smoke in the chimneys evaporated. The houses faded, brick by brick. And as I finally stepped foot in the valley, I could not see a foot in front of me. And so, with hands stretched out, like a drunken man in the dark, I searched for something of substance. A wall, a tree, or the wrinkled face of that old lady waiting with the cup of coffee. But there was nothing. It was all gone. The entire town. Before I knew it, I had cleared the valley and my hand pressed against the opposite cliff wall. And so I climbed. Perhaps my eyes had deceived me. Perhaps the loneliness had consumed me, like the fog that had eaten up the town. But as I neared the top and looked back, the fog lifted, and the town was as before. Untouched. Inviting. Perfect. I made this journey several times, but with the same result. I would slowly crawl towards the town, and the fog along with me. And as I left, so would the fog. And so defeated, on top of the hill, I took one final look at the town that was and wasn’t, and walked on over the hill.
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