It is a moody colorless day as i’m marching with my adjustable ski poles through the green steep Rila mountain on a desolate steep dirt trail, accompanied by my mother. Birds are flying, migrating to the southern hemisphere as it is turning chilly. Tree leaves are falling on the ground. I feel my legs were sore, my hands are dark red and my face is turning violet. I ask myself, “Where is the hill? I can’t see it, is it far away?
“Mom, i’m very fatigued. Let’s turn back immediately!” I exclaim.
“Son, you should never give up. Even if it’s the worst-case scenario.” She responds.
We continue walking as we encounter a plain area, and on the horizon, I notice a brown mountain refuge. By that time, it already starts snowing and the wind is as strong as a wedge tornado. I
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A bit later, I notice that the hut is 200 meters away from us, feeling excited about eating some meat in order to regenerate energy. As we enter the hut, I feel the heat penetrating into my lungs. I smell the delicious cuisine smell which makes me hungry like a wolf. I order myself a chicken soup in order to regain my stamina, and a cup of tea to warm up myself. In the hut, there are a plenty of excited tourists, wearing thick pants, scarves, thick boots, and willing to complete the same journey. Later, we again embark on the final section of the journey. This time we had to traverse the steep area through a rocky mountainous irregular surfaced path. The sun rays are pointing at me, feeling as if everything has changed. We’re walking through the muddy wet path, and expecting the end of my journey. I feel the cool humid atmosphere and breeze which makes me feel nostalgic when I remember how different this trail is from the one I walked through when I went to Cherni Vruh, a hill in the Vitosha mountains. As I climb up, it is getting colder and a light sleet starts as the sun disappears to the west.
“Put on your ski jacket!” My ma