The chuba we settled on late night yesterday fits perfect. Woven from the softest yak khullu and lined with sleek fur, this long coat will keep me warm on the long, arduous journey ahead.
“Now that’s some color,” Sangmo said when I pulled the coat from the pile—and it is. Like the bright blue poppies dotting the high slopes in late spring and early summer, the coat is the richest hue of blue, instead of the everyday black.
As my hand runs across the fine down, my mind wanders to those early summer days when I used to pick poppies with Choezem, our amchi from the monastery. A tinge of melancholy tugs at the soft corners of my heart. Get those bright ones, she used to say, for the brighter the color, the more potent the medicine. And of course, those bright ones always hid themselves on
