mountain thoughts

As we were parsing out the paths for a route down to the city from the mountain, I could almost feel the different possibilities changing like temperature. Suggestions were made that felt more like speaking things into existence. Creators of fate. The mountain air can do strange things to you. Everything takes on an enhancing quality. Echoes of meaning move through our body and miles of solid earth below us and up and out through the treetops. The birds leave in a flash of black wings and carry the echoing down to the small lit squares below, as they nestle into the eves to hear the stories the people tell. Their songs are about us and Nature. They are about God. That's how I feel when I'm up here. Like Gods brother. Like a piece of God, learning my limited role. Trusting my brother of Nature and the magic in my own wonder. People are flawed, but they have to capacity to redeem and be redeemed, even if its the smallest of things. We have Nature to show us the way, and the ability to choose to follow it, there is meaning in that. There never really is a good distinction between people and nature, just the ever-changing ones that exist in peoples minds. They end up taking shape as houses. But that's a cynical view, after all,  the birds seem to like them. Maybe we aren't so bad.

Learning to pay attention and look at the world is of the utmost importance here. With a view like this, I should work to deserve it, I feel. Off along the shoreline just south past the bay, you can see all of the old growth tree's, like green hairy missing links between us and what we once were, and all of those lost feelings that come with it, that I have to still believe in. Mossy lichen, growing in the moonlight, clustering blobs of green to globs of black, all bubbling in the crucible of a bay in the fire of a sunset. Aching in my bones, in genetic memories that fossilized, is alchemical magic undoing the process of time, in some slow and indirect way. I only need to sit here with the process and honor the view, to pay attention.

We were coming back from the enormous rope swing off of the train tracks that overlooked the Islands. Holy s**t. It was the most spectacular little clearing, and the way we approached it had this intrinsic dramatic flare. We followed the train tracks down for about a half mile, when somewhere in the middle of the walk, I'm told to watch out for white trucks and something about a pretty hefty fine. I voiced some concern but heard something like "run fast". I was already trying to do this in order to catch up. So now I had that on my mind and he gave no real indication as to how far this place was that he was taking me. I realized at one point that we were now in the middle of two sharp bends so any white truck coming would sneak up quickly from either direction, the suspense naturally raised and the wind picked up. We moved quickly hopping with my eyes down from tie to tie. Around this perfect bend we went. As we almost crossed, I basically anticipated a white truck, when all in a moment, the sun broke through the clouds, the breeze slowed and warmed in the rays and this perfect clearing opened up as my apprehension was outrun. A stream jutted through the middle and ran under a drainpipe and down the sharp cliffs, feeding the stream was an enormous and loud waterfall, cascading white water with tremendous force. It centerpieced the clearing and was balanced and cut through by the long rope swing. Every tree was covered in the greenest moss of changing shades, like living creatures blending into them, almost moving as the light would switch rapidly behind the clouds. 

We swung magically with only the sun as our clock. Nothing safe about this rope at all. Jerry rigged with mismatched colored straps and extensions added by whoever else found this place. It gives a sense of community. I headed up the rocks surrounding the falls, stood staring into that water. My feelings were churning inside me, banging against rocks of the past, hard places to be in. I felt that up against the softness of the clearing, and I cried into the falls. It was short, but cathartic. 

The sunset stayed up a little longer for me I think. Followed us all the way down that mountain.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

This is very original nature writing . . . I love the way you mix sensory observations with an ongoing analytical display of what each experience means to the narrator. I love that you include many details that most people never notice. You infuse your observations with meaning that is profound & thought-provoking, all the while, telling a dynamic story about exploring the mountain's secrets. I interpreted the white truck as being a symbol for whatever stifles us in life (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[dukovan]

thanks for reading and taking a moment to say something, have a lovely day!