Yesterday I saw something that most people in the world never get to see. We skied to the top of a mountain, which took a lot of tears and a lot of not so kind words from our kids. They thought it was kid torture to make them go uphill on skis for what seemed like a thousand years. We came to the top and what we saw was a world of white mountains all around us. Layer upon layer of white, contrasted with a royal blue sky. It almost made me fall to my knees and sing. I did not do that, of course. I just kept walking and letting other skiers, faster than us, pass.
There is something about being on the top of a mountain that sounds like freedom. It feels like freedom. Why is that, I wonder. I wonder about that and I wonder why we all instinctively think that horses are pretty. Who said that they are prettier than for example pigs? OK, horses was not what I meant to write about. I just thought of it.
I think that on the top of a mountain I feel the most free because there is no clutter. There is open space. I feel I can breathe. I have space to think. On the top of a mountain there was no emails, no phone calls, no deadlines. Just the quiet of the open air and the white snow. On top of the mountain I could be exactly who I am. It did not impress the mountain much, neither did it reject me.
Going down the mountain was a bit challenging and I had to keep my tongue straight. We made it to the bottom with no broken bones. It was a great accomplishment for our family. Then we skied back through a deep valley. This one was not spectacular like the mountain top. It just felt safe and protective. Like a kind auntie that will make sure that we never have a blister, never feel hungry, never need anything.
I think I prefer the wild and open mountain, unpredictable and windy, majestic and steep to the safe valley where nothing can go wrong.
And I think horses are pretty. Much prettier than pigs.