it has been quiet on the word front of late, i know, but not for want of reason. i have been trekking you see, high into the Himalayas, right into the lap of those mountains that were like creatures of prey: watching, waiting. our 15 day expedition took us it seemed all the way through the seasons, from the steamy jungle of valley to soft floored pine forests, across vast plains open to the sky and barren moonscapes silent but for the roar of a distant waterfall (like a thousand hands clapping). as we climbed higher the air grew thinner and the trees scarce.we set out for our goal - Thorong La - the highest pass in the world at 5000 metres - before dawn and it was like something out of a Greek myth - a line of small dark figures, some with torches, winding upwards through the mist. the mist cleared, the sun shone, the mountains glowed for us and we reached the top, collapsing for a while before the descent (what goes down must come up - thanks be to Goodness). i remember Philip Pullman remarking mysteriously that he had 'seen many landscapes' (as if to explain something of his books) and i feel like i, too, have seen afew lanscapes recently. the world is more strange and lonely that i knew. what are we at the foot of a mountain? or in the shadow of an urban skyscraper? we equal very little. mountians are my Cathedral now open to the seasons and the changeable sky.