The hands could not cope with the rush of memories. The field notes, except for the three short poems found in North Cotabato, were not sifted through yet. It has been almost a year, yet I have only the heart, the will to post some of the mountainous files of photos from this trip today.
Mt. Apo let me experience wild boar meat, ginataang halwan, wild watergrass. Its biting cold, the reflection of the mountains on the lake, the memory of being on top, the height, the memory of calling a lover along the forest, the rubber tree with a hollowed, burned body, the secret brooks that tasted purer than any water, the dread of brushing against a poison ivy. Ah, the liveliness of Marble River and my buckling knees marveling at its beauty.
Let me write about Mt. Apo someday. Enjoy the photos today.
Having a bout of nostalgia,