Iran before Morocco (2008-2011)

It is an austere morning. My body wants to reject the early mission: summit before sunrise is what had been indoctrinated before my slumber by my grandfather. So summit before sunrise I shall make. My knees tighten at exhales and anticipations as I follow my grandfather’s footsteps. His footprints are strong – certain. I follow his sure-footed prints by leaping into each one. Hopping feels more exciting and like a game, which distracts me enough until the summit. There, there is a counter and behind it – a chef. We order the usual, tomato with eggs, then blend ourselves into the tranquil group of fellow early risers. There goes the guitarist again. The tune is familiar yet novel – or novel yet familiar. I never remember the descent.