Home is where the heart is
I am so unmotivated to work today. All I can think about are mountains. What trails I want to do next weekend. Summiting Yamnuska at the end of July. Overnight pack trip with the horses to Tombstone, or spend 3 days at Ya Ha Tinda? A lot of planning will have to go into either trip, so we need to get started now.
Even in an office building, I can still smell the alpine air. The sweet tang of the lodgepole pines, the clean, yet dusty scent of limestone, the refreshing breath of that impossibly clear and blue river. My car still smells of leather, my tack still carries Lightning's unmistakeable scent. How can a person focus on memos and interviews when those scents linger still in my nostrils? How can I review phone directories and compose emails when every time I close my eyes I am again on those steep rocky trails or shadowed forest paths, staring out at the majestic panorama of the Rocky Mountains?
The day I left home I sat in the morning with my mother, drinking coffee as we stared out the bay window over the pasture and the hills beyond. The mountains were obscured by the lowhanging clouds of an incoming storm and we watched Devil's Head slowly disappear as we spoke of many things. I'll never forget mom's offhanded reply to Martino when he arrived and asked what where were doing. I don't know why, but they struck me to the core and resonate with me still. What were we doing on that calm, overcast morning?
"Just waiting for the mountains to reappear."
Even in an office building, I can still smell the alpine air. The sweet tang of the lodgepole pines, the clean, yet dusty scent of limestone, the refreshing breath of that impossibly clear and blue river. My car still smells of leather, my tack still carries Lightning's unmistakeable scent. How can a person focus on memos and interviews when those scents linger still in my nostrils? How can I review phone directories and compose emails when every time I close my eyes I am again on those steep rocky trails or shadowed forest paths, staring out at the majestic panorama of the Rocky Mountains?
The day I left home I sat in the morning with my mother, drinking coffee as we stared out the bay window over the pasture and the hills beyond. The mountains were obscured by the lowhanging clouds of an incoming storm and we watched Devil's Head slowly disappear as we spoke of many things. I'll never forget mom's offhanded reply to Martino when he arrived and asked what where were doing. I don't know why, but they struck me to the core and resonate with me still. What were we doing on that calm, overcast morning?
"Just waiting for the mountains to reappear."