13 September 2008
I fell in love this weekend again with my mountains. On California’s tree-lined streets and wrapped in her bay-fog I forgot the sweet breath and wide embrace of the mountains I have loved.
Friday afternoon we threw together some gear and strapped on our packs. The head of the trail was deceptively flat, paved and civilized, but as soon as the cars were swallowed from view the path crumbed into gravel and then into a damp creek bed.
My lungs were sore form the valley’s pollution and my legs tired from its concrete stairs. But I was in my mountains and my soul laughed at the red of the wild berries, the whisper of yellow in the leaves, the soft cool of wet air that kissed my thirsty skin.
True love is waking up to the cold of pre-dawn, the air burning against your face. It’s the smell of dew on the living earth that fills your nostrils and fills your head— alluring, enticing. It’s the bright of first sun that washes slowly down the mountainface to fill the dark lake and warm the shadows. It’s waking up aching all over from loving the climb too much.
But Saturday is laundry day and homework and housework so now I’m back in my house in the valley, sitting by the window wondering what my mountain is doing.
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2 comments:
What do you mean your mountain!!
mmmm. The hills have always been alive. but there's so much more than music. they praise their Creator. they are shade, stumbling blocks,support, protection.
When I was reading Nephi's account of building a temple (2 neph 5:16) the other day, I couldn't help but wonder what it looked like and if I could reproduce it.
mountains have been temples too. I know the tower of babel didn't work, but somehow- being closer to the sky makes us feel closer to God. maybe just because we're away from the 'pollution.'
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