Maybe you’ll find yourself out there. There where the rock heart of the mountain splits right in two and thrusts high around you. Where craggy pinnacles pierce the blue; where water comes rushing down, gashing the mountain wider and deeper still, crashing white against boulders, passing swiftly into pools, and there hovering clear.
And the heat makes you sweat; the trail climbs. And some boys hike on ahead. It’s a good sweat and a good climb. Steady. Not too hard, for we’ve got two recovering from fevers and we don’t want those headaches coming back.
Nellie’s there, too. Our girl can hike. Her tongue lolls and she steady climbs, anxious to catch up with her boys.
We hoped for this.
We dreamed of this.
We prayed for this.
For these moments on the mountain when our deepest souls stir and breath comes from a well too vast and too deep to comprehend.
When there was a mortgage underwater and a job lost; when everything around felt foreign and disjointed.
When it felt like there was no way out.
Even when the dream itself seemed to die and all we could do was lie there and cry.
Hope never ceased.
.
