A friend sent me this post card a week or so ago. She’s from where I moved a year ago, although that’s not where I met her.
I think it must remind her, as it certainly does me, of an amazing and beautiful mountain there. Supposedly the most climbed mountain in the world I heard. It was right near my home, and within sight of my walks.
There are no mountains where I live now, and while I used to complain bitterly as I ran or biked up any hill, now I honestly miss them.
The monotony of flat terrain may be something I never get used to I’m afraid. Mountains just inspire. They fill one’s heart with strength and power.
I climbed that mountain a few times, as well as smaller versions, many more. I helped to rescue injured hikers off and even jogged a few trails back in the day. And one time I even got so lost on one of the local mountains that they were ready to rescue me with dogs when I made my way off a road after running miles and hours off course!
Now I only fear getting stuck in traffic or hit by another car. Or struck by lightning in a crazy tropical storm. If I’m really unlucky, a hurricane may hit.
But nothing will be like me and the mountain… My wits against hers. That raw, majestic solitude–just beckoning me: come closer.