First Time Up High

The air was cool on my sun toasted skin. Rummaging through my pack looking for a layer, I was shocked that it could be this cold in August. We’d been walking for days in the summer sun with our lives strapped to our backs. Patches of snow dotted the summit. It was the highest I’d ever been under the power of my own feet. Alone in the moment; absolute awe. For the first time in nearly a week, I powered up my cellphone. Ignoring all the incoming messages- I rang my mom. Gently sobbing and desperately trying to put words to the view, the emotions, the world around me. I had never felt so at home yet so alone. I knew, from that day forward, that the mountains were in me. 

I am made up of tiny summit flowers, pushing through the rocky crust in the most desolate of places.  Persistent and beautiful. I am the curious marmot scurrying from place to place. Always on the hunt for a snack. I am the granite beneath my feet and the air about my head. I don’t just breath it into my lungs, its in my soul. This is my place.