He stood on the pass with his arms stretched out like wings. Cool air running along the ridges splashed against his face and whipped his shirt sleeves in its wake. If only he had feathers, instead of clothes, he could swim in those currents and rise and fall with the mountain thermals. He would leave his cares behind. He would become one with his beloved.
Closing his eyes against the stunning display of natural beauty in front of him, the broken reaches of forest creeping up from timberline, the small patches of meadows scattered along the trickle of blue running its meandering course through the valley far below, and the steep canyon walls stretching away to close in a circle against the horizon of his sight, he gave himself to the embrace of the midday sun. It caressed and soothed. It grounded him in his truth and helped him ease away from dreams of flight.
He loved the mountains, yes. But, he didn’t belong with them always. He was a stranger, and always would be no matter how often he visited, just passing through on his own separate journey. That didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate his time there. That didn’t mean he shouldn’t miss it when he was elsewhere. The mountains simply weren’t his home. The ground beneath his tired legs hummed in vibration with that truth and, shouldering his pack, he started down the pass to see what adventures awaited.
It is nearly time again. They are calling to me. Soon, I will go to them.