All Work

In Shinghkhar, Bhutan, a pastoral yak-herding village of about 250 people, there is a growing concern over the impact of tourism. I stayed in Shinghkhar for three weeks, before and during its annual tsechu (or religious festival). Every morning I woke to the chanting of the young student monks (gomchens) as they marched up the steep hill and past my window. Drums, cymbals, chanting, and singing resound continuously as the ceremonies and rituals are rehearsed.

From darkness comes fine remembrances of times When silken threads hung desiring to entice And swollen ruby reds were heavenly gates. Once alabaster, in the dim light stretched out Now the dry papyrus of a map so arduously drawn With spidery wiggly lines in reds and purple blues Mapping out wanton warm summer delights Or discrete winter whispers exhaled leaflessly Or the heavy monsoon air of rat rani scented nights. Oh the dream, the fine lines of so many dreams. Yet even