I went bowling with some people from camp last night. It was all good fun, some funny conversations, great jokes and great pictures.
But I saw something on the way that made me remember the mountains for what they mean to me. It's not as if they are not daunting anymore, but I now feel the same connection I once felt. In a moment, I was comforted.
Slick blades of raw rock protruding upward into the clear sky. Snow hangs nowhere except the peak. These rocks are raw and unaltered, letting everyone know they could stand alone, breathing in the fresh mountain air for eternity. In the rain, a mist surrounds the bold face and briskly flows around it. And in the bitter cold, it's face is dabbled but not covered with complete snow, again letting everyone know, nothing could detain it. But in the summer, it's true beauty comes out as a brilliant sun and blue sky create such a contrast as for some tourist to say, "Hey, hunny, now that's beautiful."
And so I feel a connection. I'm sure I could stand alone for an eternity only breathing in the mountain air. But I know somewhere out there is a blue sky and brilliant sun, metaphorically speaking - of course everyone knows there is a blue sky and a sun.
Amy mentioned something in an e-mail to me a while ago. I was telling her about everything going on in my life, and she responded how she knew it was right as long as it met certain conditions. And in a moment, I knew it was a lie, and maybe it was just an escape for me. So some people really do know me. Let me just call them kindred spirits. So rare they are, yet so close to me in every single way.
On another note, after eating breakfast this morning, something happened and made me want to do one of those Irish-Leprechaun-jump-in-the-air-with-your-heels kicks. And for the first time, I did it perfectly. Maybe it is the elevation ...