Where Mountain Winds Carry Prayers

This monastery sits at fourteen thousand feet where the air is so thin your lungs burn with

every breath. I watched an elderly monk spin the same prayer wheel he's touched every single

day for sixty years. His hands were weathered like the ancient stones around him, but his movements

were pure meditation. The prayer wheels here aren't just decoration. Each rotation sends

mantras into the universe, carried by mountain winds that have blown since before

any of us existed. Local women still harvest flowers at dawn in gardens their grandmothers

planted. Prayer flags fade from brilliant colors to whispers of fabric, releasing blessings

as they deteriorate. At sunset, candles flicker against peaks that scrape the sky,