Jara Lhatse, 2004

After a long day over the pass we came down to a valley at 4,300 metres, where hot springs rise straight out of the rock into natural stone baths. The air was minus ten; the water was almost too hot. We sat there for two hours under the moon and the snow peaks, reading each other every poem we could remember. The warmth took the tiredness away, and the words of the poems sounded sharper and brighter than they ever had down on the plains.