There are memories that knock on your door dressed in dream-like qualities: hazy, incoherent, full of moments that wrap the heart with a warm, lingering, silent joy. And without you knowing it, you start to physically manifest the beginning of a smile.
You think of a random physical thing to keep your thoughts grounded – one that would serve as an effective anchor as you travel back in time. In my case: the rose window of an Episcopal church, colorful wild flowers by the roadside, coffins hanging on a cliff, and succulent strawberries sold by a smiling vendor on a Saturday market.
My friends are still asleep – including two who returned to bed after preparing breakfast. Sleep is heavenly in cool mountain weather like this. I walk past a café selling ‘orgasm-inducing’ lemon pie – consciously making an effort to slow down while appreciating the early morning fog flirting with pine trees.
“Good Morning! How much are these?” pointing at strawberries in white plastic cups. I don’t remember her reply, but I remember her smile; and how the succulent strawberries drip at the side of my lips when I bite. It is only a few minutes past six in the morning and I already know how the rest of the day will taste like.
And if this soft ray of sunshine piercing through the morning fog is of any indication, I am sure the rest of my stay here in Sagada – romantically described by many as the quaint town in the clouds – will be warm and unforgettable.
Pine needles at sunrise.
‘Death’ in the morning.
St Mary’s Episcopal Church- Sagada
Seeing curves and lines.
Photo credit: Ian/Edward
Photo credit: Edward
The hanging coffins of Sagada.
George Guest House (where we stayed).