On the mountain

We sat on the rock with the soft cushion of moss and looked out over the city way down in the valley below. The sun filtered through the trees and lit up all the new green growth. A heavy haze draped the distant peaks, drawing us further into a dream state. The smell of green things, and earth, cherry blossoms and fertilizer from the farms and vineyards muddled my brain like a fine wine. Time slowed to a crawl, like the traffic, so far away, barely visible through the pink haze down in the valley. Birds warbled joyously in the trees, and butterflies trembled over blossoms strewn across the forest floor. A few bees droned lazily about their business of pollinating the earth one flower at a time, drifting gently on the cool mountain breezes. The Norwegian Spruces jut out from the surrounding wood with their deep green finery. They are like ancient relics from a past age before the auto routes, before these hills were tamed, when forests were still dark forbidding places outside the realm of human domination. We sit and talk of things; of nothing and everything, the color of our hair and the essence of our souls. It is not difficult or uncomfortable, just the natural flow of thought and feeling, like the world around us. There is no self-consciousness here, no strict code of conduct, just a simple give and take, an unaffected exchange of histories and philosophies. Off in the veiled distance a mountain stream rushes along, bounding down from the snow covered peaks, through rocks and trees, shuttled under roadways, around fields and houses; an unstoppable energy, rushing, rushing to the river on it’s journey to the sea. An old couple and their dog wander by on the small mountain road behind us. We exchange muted salutations, friendly but unwilling to break the spell. I can feel the stress from the everyday to and fro of the last few weeks flowing out of me into the rocks and trees and the gently blowing wind. I think about the last hour and a half of hiking, the struggle up the steep roads and trails, the straining muscles and laboring lungs. This is the reward for that effort, a moment of peace and unrestrained enjoyment of all things beautiful. If only every effort could be rewarded so profoundly. If only we could sit at the end of every day’s work and regard the beauty of creation around us and marvel at it’s rhythm and flow. It was time to head back down the mountain. Like the streams on their way to the sea, we can’t stay here forever. We have places to go and things to do and life is an unstoppable force driving us on to that final destination. Who knows what waits further down the river.