Notes from a quiet lake

Before sunrise, Lakeside is almost another town. Shop shutters are down, the road is empty, and Phewa has not yet begun reflecting the Annapurnas.

I sat near the water as the mist lifted in pieces. A blue wooden doonga crossed without urgency, its oar drawing a quiet line toward Tal Barahi. Somewhere behind me, the first kettle began to whistle.

We often travel to fill our days. Pokhara reminded me that an empty hour—with Machhapuchhre slowly appearing above the lake—can hold more than a crowded itinerary.