Other Mountains Beautiful Weeds

I pull the flap of the tent back. The cool air nips my nose. A drop smacks my forehead and runs around my eye and down my cheek.

I look up at the sky where the ragged rock slashes its peace.




Thin white clouds transform from moment to moment drawing new lines but never forming into anything tangible.




I sit with my legs crossed just outside the tent. My bottom feels cold stuck to the wet ground. I place my hands on my knees just like I learned in yoga class. I focus on the tip of the mountain. It will take two hours to get to the top today.

There is already a family at the top. I wonder how early they must have started. My eyes are caught by a dear at the bottom of the trail. He sees me. And then like a bolt he jumps and runs along the base of the mountain and into a grove of trees. He crashes through the foliage until I can no longer see him.

A bird dives from the sky and then scoops its self back up making a V. A violet flower stands out in a bed of yellow. From here I can see its dew, two drops run together to make a tiny river down its pedals.

A camel pack lays a few feet from my tent. The sight of it makes me turn away but its image imprints in my brain and I can’t shake it. I see myself running to it and stomping on it with everything that I have. Then in my mind I pick it up and throw it with such inhumane strength that it knocks that damn bird right out of the sky. I watch in my head as the bird flails then falls to the earth. My morbid mind turns. A stab of pleasure like I just ate some delicious poison runs through to my finger tips. Then the pain. The guilt. The loneliness trickles at first then stabs me in the heart and I can no longer sit here like this. I can no longer hold still.

I stand. I look around me. What once was peaceful now turns dark, distorted. The flowers jump up in a scream. I could swear I hear a dear screech from somewhere beyond. I see an ugly stick that I hadn’t noticed before. I bend down and pick it up. A sharp edge cuts my finger. Blood trickles. Somehow this soothes me. I turn to my tent. I imagine myself violently ripping it apart until it stands like nothing more than poles and tattered threads.

But I don’t do any of this.

Instead I set the bloody stick next to the opening. I walk to the camel back. I’m revolted. Too many memories. Of him. I debate on just leaving it there. It would be easy. Someone would claim it I’m sure.

This was our place. Our field of flowers.

We came here every year at this time. We would hike up to the top of the mountain then slide on our bottoms down the glacier until we reached the emerald lake at the bottom and that was my favorite. It was surrounded by trees.

The tiny forest was packed full of wild life. Glistening eyes shining through the darkness looked like dozens of spies watching us and our happiness. He always wanted to leave before me but he endured while I soaked up the sun. I love the contrast of the freezing snow and the blaring sun. The contradiction fed me like a drug.

Every year we came here, except last year. I didn’t think it would feed me like it once had. In fact I was sure walking up that slope would rip me in two. I was sure that I would never see the emerald lake again.

I bend down and touch my finger tips to the flesh of the camel pack. I kneel there for several minutes. What’s inside me is so mixed up so confusing that I am not sure whether to run or continue forward.

Fear fights down my resolve. I kneel there barely touching the camel pack. "I have to" I say. "I have to do this." I can’t keep going on like this. I can’t keep living in the past and stuck in some warped dark future. I need to live right now.

I wrap my hand around the neck of the pack. I squeeze it wanting it to burst, rage runs through me followed by relief, then guilt, then a flash of peace, then hysteria all in a matter of a tiny moment, a flash of color and rage.

Too much there is no more thinking there are no more decisions. I throw the pack on my back. Secure it. I don’t look to the top of the mountain. I look at my feet at the floor, the earth the dirt. I walk and squash a wild flower as I pass. I can almost hear it scream. The pain cuts me. The guilt. I start to walk faster then faster. Then I am running until I am at the base but I don’t look up.

I hear voices behind me. Lots of them. It’s getting late in the morning soon this place will be swarming with hikers. I want to push them away I want them to leave. I avoid or resist turning and screaming at them like a mad woman. I am aware what I must look like but I don’t care.

I start to run up the trail watching my feet only. I run and run faster and faster until I can barely breathe. I know I must stop and drink some water. But I don’t’. I don’t stop. That thing on my back is nothing more than a symbol to me right now. I run and run. Then smack. I run into a wall but it’s not a wall it’s a person. I stumble backwards. On the ground in front of me is an old woman. She looks so fragile I wonder what the hell she is doing up here. She is rubbing her neck.

"Oh my god." I say. "Are you OK?"

She looks up at me and smiles no anger there. I reach my hand down to her.

"So fast." she says but she isn’t reprimanding me. Her words are kind. "So fast honey. S Slow down. Enjoy the view." She looks out over the edge and so I do too.

What I see transforms that moment and seers itself into my brain and then there is a change a change that I had been waiting for. A change that I didn’t even know I was working toward. The view is beautiful, no breath taking because this may be the tallest mountain but it isn’t the only one. There are mountains as far as my eyes will take me. In that moment I know that I am going to make it to the emerald lake. It’s going to hurt and I probably will never come back after today but I will be ok. I am OK.

The older woman turns and watches as the younger version of herself tromps up the mountain, determined to beat life, to take it on by the horns and concur it. Will she stop and enjoy the ride? Will she smell the flowers and see how beautiful they are

or will she step on them thinking they are weeds?

I love those moments. She thinks to herself. When you cross someone's path like it was meant to be. She wonders about the younger woman. What put that look on her face?

As the younger woman walks further away from her up the mountain she feels a little piece of her heart rip out, almost like a gift. A gift of her life left behind. She hopes the woman will see all of the colors, all of the textures, the magic, the mystery, even the ordinary.

She begins to hike down the mountain, a fresh new energy pumps through her veins as visions of freedom and adventure culminate and twirl in her mind. What's next she wonders. She's been trying this new thing where she lets her heart and mind come together to form a vision of what she wants to do next.

Life has been different than what she expected. Her body aches more than usual. She's more limited in what she can do but she almost feels a bit like a teenager. Freedom. When was the last time she had so much freedom? The sky looks a little bluer, a whole lot brighter and she has to keep herself from running down the steep slope to get to the bottom. She's ready for the next mountain. What ever that is going to look like.