alpine-ardor:

I am in need of some dirt under my nails, some pine needles tangled in my days-since-been-brushed-hair, the smell of sweat and sunscreen mixing with the smell of dry dirt and slightly past-bloom wildflowers. The hum of bees and the fickle shade of a passing cloud in the summer sun as I step to the rhythm of my own breath. Focus only on the inhale and exhale and each step. My body springing forward, feeling my toes and quads warm and working. Laughing, water breaks, and repeat for several hours. Until we stand, with relief, on a summit or at an alpine lake and feel the anxious, excited adrenaline pumping in our hearts, ebb and flow. Dipping my toes in the freezing, healing waters of seclusion and granite’s eternal comfort. Lay back on some rocks and let pieces of my soul seep into them. I have left pieces of me in the highest mountains and the coldest lakes and places in between.
They’ll be with me always. And I, my lifetime only but a fraction of a second compared to theirs, will be with them.