There is a tiny 40 family Yezidi camp. Two years ago it was love at first sight and we all adopted each other and have walked close since.
Halfway up a mountain, the other side of our mountain, the air is clearer, the snow is snowier, the sunsets are more magical, and the tent-dwellers are largely forgotten.
We love loading up and heading out to our friends. No connection with feasts or fasts, we just give whatever we have and whatever we can, whenever we can.
It's freezing up there now, by four pm when the sunsets and the shadows become long, its painfully cold.
We've become part of their lives, helped launch a football team with real Adidas gear and balls. Helped to clothe the entire community spring, summer, autumn and winter. It's kind of like that song" all you have to do is call and I'll be there"...
The very dignified and noble Mukhtar calls and we rally to the task...very happily so, if I may say.
It's hard to watch these kids walk off into the sunset, with the knowledge that there is no magic and no prince on a white horse, just the cold which is already swirling and the impending darkness.
Touching one life, does impact and does make a difference. And so we will continue to saddle up and head over the mountain to this warm-hearted but shivering with cold community.
And although the sunset is majestic. And although we had a angel in the sky above us, we drove home in silence because we left our friends to the mud and the cold.
And even though we have helped, I feel wretched. Because more would be better.