The mountains are where I am

All my roads have led me here. This place where the gurgle of flowing water is a constant music. Where the wildflowers run riot in imaginative ways. The snow on the mountain peaks shines silver in the moonlight. Every breath of air you draw in your lungs is more than air, more than substance.

This is a hamlet in the mountains. Picturesque does not come close to describing it. Every way you turn, a picture awaits. A family’s humble kitchen garden against a backdrop of wild fir, where bears are rumoured to live. An undulating bridge over a blue-green river rushing off to its destination. Small roads with smaller paths leading away to mysterious places. Apple-cheeked children with diffident smiles running past you to more pressingappointments.

And yet, beauty is a very small part of the magic that this place casts.  There is a waiting, a knowing that one day, you will come here. An ancient acceptance of intertwined fates, of destinies that intersect after eons of unknowing waiting. The first time the mountains set their eyes on you, they remember. You may take a while to realize why your heart seems at peace, why there are faint memories that lurk behind every corner. It’s a moment you may not even recall later, but one that will change your life. The moment when you know, without any shred of doubt, that this is your place in the world. This is where you will be happy, where you can finally stop racing. Now all that is left to do is to come home.