Intervention: Anything But My Own Skin

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Sunrise hike

The air was crisp, the dew was heavy, and the sun's rays were just peaking over Kennesaw mountain.  I looked down at my dog, Beans.  Her ears were perked, her nub of a tail was vibrating, and she was glancing back at forth vigorously from me to the mountain trail.  She knew what was coming.  A new adventure into the morning woods where birds and squirrels flourished like wild flowers. 
I didn't speak, I didn't give her any commands, I just turned my body toward the trail.  She leapt in to a full sprint zooming, criss crossing, and leaping in a frenzy over sticks, leaves, and fallen trees as she frantically searched for God's little creatures.  All I could do was laugh. As she sprang back and forth I worked my way up the steep jagged trail.  The peak of the mountain was my goal. 

By now the sun was lighting the woods and the dew was turning to mist.  My lungs were heavy with the stiff air.  My legs ached.  My arms pumped.  The peak was all that mattered.  Even Beans had slowed from all out sprints to a pace right next to my feet.  We were walking in stride, both focused on the trail.  Thirty minutes had passed and we were wearing down.  I felt alive, I felt strong, I felt pure.  A feeling that felt better than anything else.  Beans looked up at me, with her tongue hanging out and her breath panting for air.  "Almost there Beans"  I think she understand.  Her tail started to wag again.  I looked back to the trail and saw the peak.  The beautiful peak.  Finally!  We pushed a few more yards before planting on a giant boulder and soaked in the morning glory of the sun shining over Atlanta.  Perfect...

1 comment:

  1. I love the picture of Beans--she seems to be saying "but, I don't want to go back home..."

    Natural highs like these are always remembered in life--trust me, I know!