Mountain

    As I enter the Xiakalalu Ancient Trail, I breathe in the calming scent of trees and fallen leaves. Microscopic molecules that relax my nerves enter my body. The summer breeze on the mountain feels so gentle, like being softly embraced by the hills. I wonder if it’s a yellow oriole singing in the treetops—near or far, high-pitched or low-pitched—sweet and lovely, like the laughter of a baby. The vibrant green of the forest, illuminated by the sunlight, appears full of life, with ever-changing light and shadow adding a poetic touch to the ancient trail. After turning a corner and reaching the Xiakaluo Mountain, I rest on the roots of a sacred tree, as if I can see the spirits of the Atayal people moving around. Continuing up along the ridge, the view gradually opens up before me. With a smile on my face, I walk steadily and focused toward the peak. The sweat-soaked breeze on the mountain ridge clears my thoughts, and in an instant, the answer I’ve long hidden deep in my heart comes to light. This time, with the power of the mountain, I’ve made up my mind!