The long breath above the treeline

Dear Delyara, Fourteen months ago, after the stroke took the strength from my left side, the physical therapists had to hold my belt just so I could wobble ten feet down a vinyl hospital hallway. They told me to be realistic about my age, to accept that my days of climbing the alpine trails were over. This morning at dawn, I stood at the summit cross on the Hafelekar, cold wind biting my cheeks, looking down at the red roofs of Innsbruck two thousand meters below. My left leg was tired, my heart was thumping hard against my ribs, but I walked every single step up that rocky path under my own power. I leaned against the cold timber cross and wept tears of pure, victorious joy into the morning sun.