Mist clings to emerald peaks as we begin our ascent, The ancient Inca Trail stretching before us like a promise. Each step is a communion with history, Our breaths mingling with those of countless pilgrims past. Stone stairs, worn smooth by time and feet, Lead us higher into the realm of condors. The air thins, but our spirits soar, Buoyed by the majesty of the mountains. We pass through cloud forests dripping with life, Orchids and bromeliads splash color amidst the green. A sudden clearing reveals snow-capped sentinels, Standing guard over this sacred landscape. Nights are spent in simple mountain huts, Where stories are exchanged in hushed tones. Dreams are vivid at this altitude, Blurring the lines between past and present. On the fourth dawn, we rise in darkness, A final push to reach the Sun Gate. As we crest the pass, the clouds part, Revealing Machu Picchu in all its glory. Terraces and temples, shrouded in morning mist, A city in the sky, defying time and gravity. We stand in reverent silence, Witnesses to the enduring power of human will. As the day unfolds and tourists arrive, We find a quiet corner to reflect. On the journey that brought us here, And the journeys yet to come. Mist clings to emerald peaks as we begin our ascent, The ancient Inca Trail stretching before us like a promise. Each step is a communion with history, Our breaths mingling with those of countless pilgrims past. Stone stairs, worn smooth by time and feet, Lead us higher into the realm of condors. The air thins, but our spirits soar, Buoyed by the majesty of the mountains. We pass through cloud forests dripping with life, Orchids and bromeliads splash color amidst the green. A sudden clearing reveals snow-capped sentinels, Standing guard over this sacred landscape. Nights are spent in simple mountain huts, Where stories are exchanged in hushed tones. Dreams are vivid at this altitude, Blurring the lines between past and present. On the fourth dawn, we rise in darkness, A final push to reach the Sun Gate. As we crest the pass, the clouds part, Revealing Machu Picchu in all its glory. Terraces and temples, shrouded in morning mist, A city in the sky, defying time and gravity. We stand in reverent silence, Witnesses to the enduring power of human will. As the day unfolds and tourists arrive, We find a quiet corner to reflect. On the journey that brought us here, And the journeys yet to come. Mist clings to emerald peaks as we begin our ascent, The ancient Inca Trail stretching before us like a promise. Each step is a communion with history, Our breaths mingling with those of countless pilgrims past. Stone stairs, worn smooth by time and feet, Lead us higher into the realm of condors. The air thins, but our spirits soar, Buoyed by the majesty of the mountains. We pass through cloud forests dripping with life, Orchids and bromeliads splash color amidst the green. A sudden clearing reveals snow-capped sentinels, Standing guard over this sacred landscape. Nights are spent in simple mountain huts, Where stories are exchanged in hushed tones. Dreams are vivid at this altitude, Blurring the lines between past and present. On the fourth dawn, we rise in darkness, A final push to reach the Sun Gate. As we crest the pass, the clouds part, Revealing Machu Picchu in all its glory. Terraces and temples, shrouded in morning mist, A city in the sky, defying time and gravity. We stand in reverent silence, Witnesses to the enduring power of human will. As the day unfolds and tourists arrive, We find a quiet corner to reflect. On the journey that brought us here, And the journeys yet to come.