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We are in the Tyrol region of Austria, and the air is clean and fresh. Breathe it deeply into your lungs.

You are here in this rolling landscape with the sun warming your arms and lightly touching your face.

You adjust the light, cloth, back back on your shoulders, and you feel the comfort of it,

sitting there, warm against your back. You take a few gentle steps on the chalky pathway,

and you raise your eyes up to where the peak of the hill reaches the sky.

Each day, paragliders sail from this peak, their brightly colored fabric wings, lifting on the soft breeze.

They float and wander on air streams. Some seem to glide down with ease like an autumn leaf,

while others appear to soar on thermals, and are carried far and wide like dandelion seeds in the breeze.

The paragliders' wings are rust red, reveal orange, citrus yellow, and lime green.

They fill the sky like lanterns, silent as they sail.

The ground beneath your feet crunches, and small gravel stones massage the

soles of your feet through your solid hiking boots. You feel the tingle as the little stones roll

under your toes. Your arms are loose by your sides, and you feel them sway slightly as you walk.

The path winds around the deep, pre-heal, curving with the rise of the land.

You turn the corner, and you feel your breathing deep in.

The air will become even quieter and stiller as you rise up the hill.

Your body will fill with the scent of arnica, bells-lour, and ealowice.

...