We come down from them.
Lately, I've been called by them. They beckon me to come and just be.
When I was a kid we frequently went to the mountains. We weren't campers, but we went on day trips to fish or to climb or picnic or just take in the scenery.
I don't know that I always loved it back then. There weren't any McDonalds. Usually there weren't even bathrooms. The trips seemed long and I'm sure my sister and I fought a lot for lack of entertainment.
But those are some of my favorite memories.
|Back of Pikes Peak|
And now that I've moved to a different part of the state, I'm not familiar with the local mountains. I don't know where to go. I don't know where the fishing holes are.
And, my family doesn't like to be in nature.
And we only have one car.
|San Juan Mountains|
The mountains call me and I look at them in the distance and yearn.
I see beautiful photos of mountain scenes and weep with longing.
The mountains feed my soul. They nourish me in ways nothing else does.
Several months ago my critique partners and I decided that we would go to Estes Park (Estes Park = mountains) in October. At the time that seemed far to long to wait. But here I am. The weekend is upon me.
This afternoon we are heading up to spend a couple of nights nestled under the Rockies.
I feel a big sigh coming on.