No matter what happens,
No matter the forsaken grief that envelopes your heart and your being as you endeavor to live
Always remember to walk in the valley of life and to acknowledge all who have walked here and all who are yet to tread upon this sacred ground
We all must make this trek
But to all who have tread before us and to all who are yet to promenade through in the wake of what trailblazing we leave behind
We must always remember to walk in the valley of life, to keep it alive, for it holds a collective memory of a nation.
The asphalt road ends with a beaten track. Although one is connected to the other, yet there is a clear line of division between the manmade road and the one that the trees and the passing of time have devised.
The lake is a serene presence. It lies softly oblivious as the sky reflects its hues of blues reaching all the way to the heavens. Somehow they amalgam as one creating a tableau of nature unchanged in what feels like eternity, reflecting the true beauty of Lebanon’s nature.
Towards a limitless cloudy sky, where the clouds hang beneath your feet in mercy of a day’s end, the gaze is drawn upward to the distant long summit. One could measure the tips of the mountaintops peak to peak with their small hands. Minuscule they stand, those tiny mounds. Yet up close they tower high, peaks in clouds in mystery and shroud, far and high, they reside.
The call of the wind breaks through as we all fall in line. Lost among the footfalls, the mountains are our shrines. As the rocks hold the beat, while nature sings her song and the sun brings its heat as the wind pushes us along, I think to myself how picturesque is this land, how beautiful is Lebanon.