I rested above the path that followed the stream. My back leaned against the grassy hillside, and I tried to ignore the throbbing in my ankle. Bright green moss cloaked damp-bodied trees. Water-waving moss in the stream clung to the wet stones. It made crossing the stream hazardous. My steps across last year were confident with the guided group. Returning alone to Azerbaijan’s Hirkan National Park maybe wasn’t a good idea. It was simply because I wished we could have stopped a little longer in this or that spot to drink in the beauty of the rapids that spent their energy on the mountain. Now immobile, I had plenty of time to watch them meander down the hillside before splashing onto the rocks. I savoured the solitude and peace of the woodland. Tall chestnut oaks and ironwood trees emerged from lush green fern fronds that bobbed in the dripping Autumn…
