I miss the mountains

The Mountains are made from movement of rock and stone as they push together and form a beautiful landscape. Mountains are steady and strong. Mountains stand tall. The ocean is a world of unknowing, with dangerous waves and vicious sharks waiting just beneath the beautiful and seemingly calm surface, underneath the glistening salt reflecting the sun to take your life away at the blink of an eye.

So why do most of us prefer the ocean?

I prefer the mountains, because when I'm with the mountains, I can see the sky. I can drive for hours with the mountains and lay in the trees, just thinking of the stars and how far away they are, but how happy I am not knowing.

I miss the mountains because the mountains were beautiful. I miss the moment I'd enter the canyon, when I'd smile because I knew how much work God had put into this painting. Each leaf a reminder of a memory both good and bad. As the year goes on, falling off the tree and hitting the ground, to be covered up by snow, and almost forgotten.

All I can pray is that the leaves will come back in April, that each year I can learn to appreciate each and every leaf, not to let it be buried again. Not to let the leaves fall into the ocean, for there they will surely be forgotten.

I miss my hammock, and trying to find the right trees to put it in, because that was the only thing that could get in the way of the mountains and I. The trees that held me up doing so because they care about me, though they just met me for the first time in years.

But when my feet were upon the ground, I'd take off my shoes to feel the rocky earth beneath, though the water was cold, I didn't mind as I crossed the river flowing faster than my heart beat. The mountains were steep, but they push me to the top, and through the wind I can hear them telling me that they're proud, that I can make it.

The mountains know me, and they know my vulnerabilities. My insecurities and my faults, and the mountains have forgiven me more times than I deserve.

All I want is to sit on the rock with you, mountains, and hold you as close as the trees hold the ground, pushing up the asphalt on the road with how happy you make me, like the road is my chest, unable to hold back my rooted heart trying to reach yours.

The mountains are made for me, and I for the mountains.