As I'm walking up a particularly steep trail, I feel like I'm in a constant conversation with the mountain... as if I'm negotiating. Every step is just that: a negotiation. An assessment of the rocks and dirt and the placement of my boot. An agreement with the mountain that as long as I take my time and study out my next move before I actually make it then the mountain will accept my effort and allow me to keep my steady footing. But the minute I get distracted, start taking the mountain for granted, or begin to get cocky and think myself the master of the mountain, I am humbled as I fall hard on my hands and knees, in painful supplication. Then I apologize and promise to be good and kind and gentler... and in turn I receive the same treatment.
When I stand on the top of the highest point and look down, I feel as if the mountain bows towards me respectfully acknowledging my accomplishment. I'm neither the conqueror nor the conquered... we simply mutually applaud one another. As long as I respect the mountain, I will be allowed to descend safely and with dignity. And from the top, you earn a different view of where you've come from, of the beauty around you, of the people with you, and of yourself. For me a mountain is all about self-discovery and mastery, not so much the exploration of nature and mastery of her boulders and peaks. The scenic views and triumphant ascents are perks, not designs.
I also wonder what the deer up in the mountains think of me. Do they point to each other and marvel that a human would dare venture into their backyard? We do that when deer show up in our backyards... we gasp and run to the window and call out to others, directing their attention towards the animal tip-toeing around outside. Do the deer wonder what those strange looking animals are doing when they find us in their world?
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