Dream or Real?

A Walk Through the Golden Hour

How can I put this experience into words?

I’ve climbed this mountain a few times before, but this time—this time was different. I reached the top during the golden hour, when the world seems to pause in warm light and quiet reflection.

A cool breeze kissed my sweaty face, and a soft wind playfully tried to hold me back. The cacophony of cicadas reminded me that you don’t need to be large to be heard. Around me, tall trees stood with quiet dignity—weathered witnesses to countless sunrises and storms.

Above, dark clouds draped themselves across the sky. The moon—Miss Nila—struggled to peek through, playing hide-and-seek behind the clouds, while the eye of heaven slowly shut at the horizon.

My ears tuned into two competing rhythms: the crunch of my hiking boots and the steady thump of my heartbeat.

And just as I was soaking in this moment of solitude, I heard a voice echoing from the distance:
“Get up, it’s late!” my flatmate called out.