Path to the Mountains

From a journal entry during a vacation to the beach a few years ago...


I really do prefer the mountains over the beach. I do like the waves and the beautiful sunsets. The stars are impressive as well, assuming the ambient lights are not much of a factor.  But, the mountains feel more like home.  I am sure that sounds strange coming from someone raised in Illinois and now living in Indiana, where the elevation changes could really be measured in inches.  But, I am not talking about it feeling like home because it reminds me of my childhood or teen years.  I am referring to a deeper longing.  A home that is an echo of something from the past.  A past in which I am only vaguely familiar.  A memory that may lie somewhere in my genes. At the beach, I feel like an intruder or at best, a guest.  It is a place at which I am never entirely comfortable. But, a mountain!  I belong there!  I may not know all of the ways, but my roots are there.  My soul is there.  My heart is there.  In the streams, in the ancient cool and quiet forests, and in the snow covered peaks. 

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