this was written over the period of several classes so…hopefully it’s coherent. On Monday I went for a brief hike to have some alone time and to just be outside as I’ve been cooped up with far too much schoolwork lately. I have recently been struck by the beauty of the place where I live and attempted to put words to that. This is what came out in Doctrine 1 and NewTestament 503…
I went hiking today. I went alone. I wanted the silence, though I did not know it at the time. There is a part of me that is called to the wild places of Colorado, the sweep heights so shorn by bitter winds and summer sun. I love the lands I’ve been to, I still long for the places where I’ve lived in past years. But deep in my soul is a piece that longs for the majesty of those mountain faces, and the brilliancy of snowy hillsides dotted with scraggly pines scattered amid stones and deep red earth.
The snow had been stripped down on the rocks, blown across by daily wind till it was carved to fine edges and smooth glittering surfaces. The snow looked like worn sandstone whose years are beyond measure, cut away in curves on the edges of the ridge like smoothed shale that sparkled like diamonds in the ever present sunlight. The ice crunching beneath my feet, broken by the borrowed boots was the only sound heard above the howling wind.
I sat on a ledge, over looking the narrow valley before the hogback, watching the sun rise over a city that never truly sleeps. The red boulder beneath me was scattered seeds of the pine tree at my back, shaking in the wind that tumbled over the mountains. THe seed will never take root. The pine will still shake off its bounty though it will come to naught. The wind plummeted o’er the heights and pushed forward a storm that would not take root until Thursday. But the wind knew the coming blessing and hurried on her way out to the Eastern plains.
I watched the earth sit solidly amid the chaos that raged beneath the heavens, and for a long while I just rested amidst it all. It was loud but it was silent, for I was deaf to all beyond me, to all the bustle of the thing we mistakenly call life.
The majesty overwhelmed me. The idea that a hand had carved the great monoliths and paint thee hillsides that dwarfed my insignificant sent. Who am I that you should take note of me? I can hardly climb to these great places, and he could have but breathed and it would come to be. And there I sat, small against the world. School work far from mind, bills and rent seemed to not exist and I could think of nothing but the beauty of the wild places and the glorious One who made it all.