Our Secret
I watched him as he paused on the bald outcropping of rock atop Mt. Marcy's mighty summit. He stood bravely, hands jammed in pockets, tall and confident, yet relaxed and sure. Having moved away from the bauble of the other, seemingly unaware, mountaineers, his solitary frame was set against a background of quiet, protruding peaks and a sky that stretched from his secluded position to somewhere beyond the eyes' gaze.
I could see the indulgence in his stance. He was feasting in the banquet-table view that lay spread before him heaped with every conceivable delight. He was unaffected by the slicing wind that less than gently tousled his hair. From it he gained a strength of soul, as if melding into this authentic mural hung on the great wall of creation. Yet, he was just a man.
How he longed for this majesty, this power, this peace that Marcy afforded. It spoke of something beyond his "real" life filled with too few hours and an uncountable number of demands. The mountain declared an untouchable, just-out-of-reach perfection that stirred a throbbing ache close behind his ribs.
Suddenly he blinked hard, turned and picked his way back toward the group from which he'd separated himself, zipping his wind gear and laughing with a climbing buddy. The moment was over.
I had observed Mt. Marcy accomplish her work. She had whispered; he had listened, and I had watched. It was a secret the three of us shared.
Erin Hills
Erin is a teacher, coach, and sports enthusiast from NY whose adventures inspire her writing.