Luke: Where the Mountains Are High, But the Hopes Are Low Nestled in the embrace of craggy mountains and surrounded by the kind of natural beauty that would make even the most jaded nature enthusiast shed a tear, the village of Luke feels like the last stop on a one-way trip to nowhere. It boasts vistas that could make poets weep, yet somehow here—in this slip of a village weaving between the borders of North Macedonia, Serbia, and Bulgaria—it's the aspirations of the people that have taken a tumble down the hillside, far into an abyss shrouded by mist. As the sun rises over the peaks, one can hear the faint echoes of dreams fading into the crisp mountain air. Villagers wake up, stretch, and perhaps entertain a fleeting thought of farming their way to prosperity, only to remember that the goats have once again eaten their hopes for breakfast. Here, agriculture is less a viable economic strategy and more an ancient rite of passage, where endless toil yields barely enough to survive another frost. What can I say about the local economy? It thrives like a stubborn weed in a neglected garden—present and resilient, yet ultimately unwanted. Arts and crafts? Certainly! If you consider carving intricate designs into pieces of bark whilst hoping the occasional tourist passes by as an industry. The occasional busload of wide-eyed wanderers may stumble through Luke seeking authenticity, but they tend to leave with Instagram stories, not economic support or lasting connections. Indeed, the treasures of Luke are perhaps best summed up in a single phrase: “Visit us! You probably won't come back, but we appreciate the thought!” Politically, Luke might as well be situated on a different planet. Local government meetings resemble a perpetual cycle of 'let's pretend everything is fine' that lasts far longer than sunset over the mountains. The conversation rarely veers from the familiar litany of complaints: roads full of potholes larger than small cars, bureaucracy that resembles an ancient labyrinth, and funding that appears to have taken an extended vacation off to more prosperous locales. The only representatives that ever make headlines come from the neighboring countries—and those headlines often involve border disputes or trade symphony amidst a cacophony of empty promises. Culturally, the village is a mixed bag of leftovers from a time when people aspired to be more than what the mountains dictated. Festivals take place in the square, with locals dancing their traditional dances while trying to hide their weariness beneath layers of colorful costumes. It’s a charming masquerade; the joy radiates from the rhythm of their footwork, but when the music fades and silence sweeps over the square, the echoes of discord—of unfulfilled lives and aspirations—resonate even louder among the stones. And let us not forget the youth, a precious resource in every village. Yes, the youth of Luke have had their bags packed for years, waiting for the slightest whisper of opportunity. They scan the horizon with the glitter of hope in their eyes. “What’s that?” they wonder, “Is it a job? A career? A shot at a life outside these mountains?”—only to be greeted by a chilling silence that rivals the bitter winter winds. The allure of the wider world is intoxicating, and many dip their toes in foreign waters, seemingly thriving while the older generations play the waiting game. Yet, despite this landscape dotted with gargantuan peaks and minuscule hopes, Luke soldiers on. It wears its facade of rugged beauty like a mask, allowing fleeting glimpses of joy to punctuate the otherwise dreary existence. Perhaps it's the camaraderie that keeps spirits alive—the shared understanding that life here is hard, but at least it is shared. In conclusion, if you ever find yourself in Luke, appreciate the mountains as they tower boldly against apathy and despair. But remember: Nature may be magnificent, but as picturesque as it is, it does not fill empty stomachs or soothe bruised dreams. Feathered by hopes that often fly away like the gusts of wind that sweep through the valley, the people of Luke remain resilient. Here, where the mountains are indeed high, the hopes, sadly, tend to linger just below the crest, shrouded in mist, and occasionally, a cloud of goat manure.