There’s something about the pure enormous size of a mountain that is so mesmerizing. The steep slopes and dips of a ridge, the way the tree-covering softens the jagged lines of the mountain’s many faces, and the grandness in which the peak rises above the world; reaching for the sky. I can hear the summit’s cry, and its promise of a new perspective of the world.
The breeze carries clouds across and over the rocky peaks, rustling the leaves and branches creating a buzzing energy throughout the mountains, as they come alive.
I sit and watch nature play, goose bumps rising on my arms and legs. The morning air is chilly and I pull my knees in tight. Perched on an old moss covered stump I am mesmerized by the body of fog as it lifts away from the ridge lines. Oh how I love this place…
The morning frost drips from the ever green pine needles, catching the sunlight, creating small rainbows across the ground at my feet.
I tie my laces tight, and sling my pack over my shoulders. The mountains tempt me and beckon me with a promise of a challenge. Running, I dodge, duck and hurdle; avoiding trees, roots and rocks. My breath freezes in the chilled spring air. My lungs sing, and my shoulders relax. With each step I break off a little more stress, and I let my troubles fall behind me. I feel the sun warming my neck. The birds keep me company; and I feel alive. The ground is hard on my feet, and I welcome the feeling. My legs stretch, and cry for oxygen. I breathe in deep.
I feel strong. I am strong.