There’s a short hike right in the middle of Edinburgh, a dormant volcano called Arthur’s Seat. We began as the sun set, a group of four from the hostel, boots laced and bodies bundled into our winter coats.

As we climbed, the elevation muffled the city sounds. We left the sun behind, let it dip below the horizon and with it, time, as we rose above the city. Only the wind was left to hush us rhythmically along.

In the dark, we peeled off coats like they were trappings of our urban selves and climbed and climbed with empty minds, sweating bodies along sweating earth.

Timelessness was a dew on the rocks, and we lay at the top and coated ourselves in it. The city lights winked at our achievement, Bravo, you’ve made it.

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