Bisaya Bloggers

      A fleece of rain clouds moved swiftly at dawn, settling quietly on the back of the great mountain. The air, biting, sweet-smelling from the scent of wild strawberries, blew soft; bending tall grasses wet with dew. From the fading darkness emerged ancient trees whose branches were swathed in shiny moss, lit by a fragile light, like spirits resurrected slowly from memory.    I was in Bukidnon, on the way to the foot of the Kitanglad range. The steep trail leading to the foot of the mountain had boulders so huge and so scattered, I could be on the moon. The ascent was literally back-breaking and breathtaking. Spread before me was a banquet of delicious landscape of undulating farms, grassy knolls, deep gorges and misty mountains. Just before entering the forest’s door formed by an overhang of a canopy of trees, I, an intruder, offered a coin on a makeshift altar, to appease the forest spirits. The mist had settled and the forest was suddenly ali...

 

 

 

A fleece of rain clouds moved swiftly at dawn, settling quietly on the back of the great mountain. The air, biting, sweet-smelling from the scent of wild strawberries, blew soft; bending tall grasses wet with dew. From the fading darkness emerged ancient trees whose branches were swathed in shiny moss, lit by a fragile light, like spirits resurrected slowly from memory.   

I was in Bukidnon, on the way to the foot of the Kitanglad range. The steep trail leading to the foot of the mountain had boulders so huge and so scattered, I could be on the moon. The ascent was literally back-breaking and breathtaking. Spread before me was a banquet of delicious landscape of undulating farms, grassy knolls, deep gorges and misty mountains.

Just before entering the forest’s door formed by an overhang of a canopy of trees, I, an intruder, offered a coin on a makeshift altar, to appease the forest spirits. The mist had settled and the forest was suddenly ali...