Returning Home
I have come down from the mountains. The return started early yesterday around 7 a.m. Mountain Time. Ended about 10:30 p.m. Central. It was a drive of two parts. Pagosa Springs to Ozona in the company of a friend. Ozona to Johnson City in the company of myself. Smooth sailing all the way. The driver of the large part knew the roads. Had driven them most of his life. The driver of the second part had high speed Interstate and a short stretch of his own familiar road. Nice combination all the way around.
This morning I think of the things I did this week. Stood on high cliffs. Walked river valleys. Discovered hidden lakes. Watched golden leafed aspens shimmer in the wind. Listened to clear brooks run over smooth rocks. Took shelter from sleet and rain. Felt the mist of a waterfall on my face. Fell without warning. Gave and received hugs. Heard the laughter of friends. Made music. Now I think of the things to do. There is uncollected refuse on the street. A dryer waiting repair. Hungry cats. A yard in need of mowing. A fence in need of repair. I think perhaps there’s a lesson there. You can run, but you can’t hide.
Although that might be a bit of hyperbole. I mean the latter is simply the everyday business of living. And I mostly enjoy it or at least I’ve come to terms with it. In either case, the things will get done without a great deal of moaning and maybe even a small feeling of satisfaction. And while I’m working, I’ll think of the mountains and my friends, and let those small pleasures lubricate the grinding gears of life. That sounds like a plan, but that would be giving me way more credit than I’m due. It’s just how I’ve always gotten along.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver's Tale