January Near Corbett

The roads near Corbett curved
like they had nowhere urgent to be,
slipping quietly through sal forests
older than memory and taller than thought.

Mornings arrived in silver fog.
The trees stood half-hidden,
their branches dissolving into mist
while the world slowly remembered its shape.

By evening, Uttarakhand turned gold.
Dust, distant hills, quiet fields —
everything glowed as if the sun
had decided to leave gently that day.

We drove without needing destination enough.
Windows down.
Cold air moving through the silence between songs.
The forest watching without interruption.

There are journeys that feel loud while they happen.
This one did not.
It moved softly —
through empty roads, winter light, and long shadows —
until it settled somewhere permanent inside me.

Even now, I can still see it clearly:
a narrow road disappearing into trees,
the last warmth of January on the horizon,
and the strange peace of being far away
from everything except the moment itself.