Almost Heaven

On the shoulder time between dark and light, when spines of mountains loom dark and misty, I wait.

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Inside the cabin is quiet. On the porch if I listen intently, and the wind favors me, I can hear the chuckle of waters hurrying to return to the sea. Sometimes I can hear the faint honking of Canada geese in the valley below.

Coffee brewed with well water warms my hands through the cup. The morning is cool enough that a fleece jacket is a welcome pleasure.

The Milky Way, which put me to bed last night has all but disappeared as the sun begins to ascend the morning sky: to everything, turn, turn, turn.

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In this place I feel no compulsion to rush headlong into tasks or the weight of deadlines. I have no requirement to plan each moment of my day for maximum results.

No. Here I can just be.

For the other fifty-one weeks of the year I draw on these mornings in the mountains as a private respite from the insanity, monotony, and disappointments of the “real” world. I find refreshment and rest here.

Yes, I will fish. Yes, I will hike. Yes, I will gorge my eyes and my mind with the beauty of creation.

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But it is these quiet mornings when I catch just a glimpse of the character of the Creator that I covet most. Perhaps it is the elevation that makes me feel a bit closer to heaven. Or perhaps it is the clear air and dark night skies free of light pollution that elsewhere drowns out the heavenly lights.

Perhaps it is the Aspens as they don their yellow gowns for fall, or the distant bugle of a bull elk. The colors of a native Cutthroat Trout as it slides from my hand to disappear in a clear headwater stream.

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Or just maybe it is because here I am able to turn down the static of life, and can more readily hear the Giver of life.

So I wait. I listen. I breathe. I live.

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