They never stop calling me. The mountains.
I hear their song always. I can hear their rushing waters in my commute to work, the cars rushing down the blacktop. I can hear their deafening silence at night when the Little Prince finally falls asleep. I can hear the whispering of their tall pine trees in the swaying palm fronds brought to life by the ocean breeze. I can hear the lapping of the lakes at dusk in the sink while the daily dishes are washed, dried, and put away. I can hear the stomp of my boots on the hard dirt trails in the way my work shoes echo down my alley in the early morning stillness when walking to my car.
I wake from my dreams with their song ranging in my heart. I go through my day with it tickling my thoughts. I go to my slumber with it gently caressing my soul, a lullaby to ease my transition.
The songs might torment others, who long to walk the wandering trails of the backcountry, to see what so few others will ever see. While I do long to flee the city for the rare air of high elevations the barrage of invites, the constant pulling of adventures yet to be had, does not drive me to distraction or annoyance.
There is work to be done here, in the kingdom, in the day to day. There are chores. There are responsibilities. There are moments to be lived of equal and often greater adventure. I love the mountains. I love the Queen and the Little Prince. I love the life we have carved out for ourselves in the Kingdom.
Besides, I know they will be there, waiting for me when it is time to head into their dark canyons and climb their soaring peaks. They will be there for me again and again as desired, as needed. Because, they never stop calling me. The mountains.