sometimes, that’s exactly what we need

Last week, I spent a peaceful morning hiking in the hills near Darabad, a quiet area just outside of my city. A friend and I started early, hoping to enjoy the fresh mountain air before the day grew warm.

We didn’t bring much—just a few eggs, some bread, tea, and a small lighter. Our plan was simple: walk, find a good spot, make breakfast, and enjoy the stillness of the hills.

Along the way, we passed local villagers walking with their donkeys. It was a scene that felt both timeless and grounding—people moving slowly, respectfully, through the mountains. It reminded me how little we need to feel connected to #nature.
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After a couple of hours, we stopped near a rocky slope. We gathered dry twigs, built a small fire, and cooked scrambled eggs with slices of melting cheese. There was something incredibly satisfying about preparing a warm meal like that—without rush, with both hands and patience.

. . .
A dog appeared quietly and settled down near us. He didn’t bark or ask for food. He just sat, calmly sharing our space. His presence made the moment feel even more complete.
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Beside the fire, we also buried a few potatoes in the hot ashes, letting them roast slowly. Waiting for them to cook became part of the experience. Once their skins had blackened and cracked slightly, we pulled them out and tasted their soft, smoky flavor with our ash-covered hands. It was the kind of taste you won’t find in any restaurant—simple, earthy, and just right for that moment.
. . . We sipped tea, talked for a while, and rested before heading back down. Nothing extravagant—just a few hours in nature, a fire, a shared meal, and silence.

Thank you for Your attention. Yours sincerely: @Macha