Running around in the backwoods of Taipei

Today I climbed a small mountain and walked around its stone-paved paths.  I found a narrow set of stairs carved into the rock that led to a rusting makeshift gate barring way to more steps in living stone, up a steep jungle path.  A peek at a checkered window.  What's there?  I walked back down the narrow mossy steps, each one only big enough to accommodate my foot, sideways.  It was a small spirit's home.


I saw a small child climb up a rock perched over a drop off.  He made explosive noises, vague expressions of violence that I guess was his sense of conquest manifesting itself.  He climbed down.  Then he climbed up again and told his grandma that she had to see this.  There were mossy little steps carved out of the rock itself, worn down by people's feet.  I climbed up afterwards.  On top an indentation was carved to allow standing, and nothing more, no railings or safety nets.  As I gingerly made my way back down the smooth green steps, I wondered about children falling off the rock, down to the steps 3 meters below.  But it wasn't a real conquest without risk.