2018
Two thousand meters high, through the forests of Vallorcine, Le Refuge de Loriaz peeks out from under its winter blanket. A row of old alpage chalets, almost entirely buried in snow, offers rooftop seating with a most impressive panorama of Mont Blanc.
Here, I built endurance.
Getting out of bed. When it was a feat.
Walking, with loneliness and doubt strapped heavy on my shoulders.
Not wanting to be anywhere at all.
Walking, until I found a place where I was glad to be.
Grasping for words.
Stumbling over words.
Quietly studying dinner table conversations.
Gathering up the nerve.
"Enchantée."
Here, I absorbed endurance—
The endurance of fifteen million year old mountains.
Steadfastly beautiful. Season after season.
I absorbed the endurance of people.
Those who worked here. Who made their homes here.
Those, today, who preserve an increasingly precious way of life.
Those who climbed here.
Those who climb here, in pursuit of a certain joy.
The endurance of the setting sun. The rising sun.
4,600 miles away, in a less picturesque season of my life, it comes down to endurance.
One foot in front of the other.
Tired. Lonely.
Closer.
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