I desire to be as beautiful as a snowy mountain. Where I can draw the gaze of millions with a powerful and jaw dropping awe. Amidst those peeking eyes, I crave for humanity to be inspired by my beauty. Yet, beauty is often colored differently depending on the beholder and I desire no superficial theatrics. What I crave is to ignore the aesthetics and focus on the raw emotional sensation the snowy peaks created on that winter evening.
It must be intimidating to be beautiful. For even fear struck within my psyche as I climbed the rockies.
I remembered it clearly. A passing blizzard had coated the surrounding mountains with a thick layer of snow. Signs and regulations were put in place to scare off any visitors, but I refused to be kept off. The roads were freshly cleaned and my better judgment was on a decline. Ignoring the belittling stares of the park rangers, I began my journey towards the peaks of the mountains. With Ruby at my side, we created a wet footprint in the sleet, reducing our speed in twain. Hiccups in our minor trek, as we slid minimally. Yet, the higher the altitude, the longer those minimal seconds felt.
I heart enjoyed every second of that small adventure, but my mind counted the seconds.
Arriving at our destination, the peaks welcome me with a misty embrace. Waving ruby goodbye, the frozen air nuzzled my warm lungs – forcing a gentle smile on my face. Yet, this form of enjoyment is a trick, as the hair in the mountain was becoming thinner. My breathing took a toll as I indulged in the clear oxygen. I never truly knew that feeling of nice, cold oxygen until then. Bitter-sweet in feeling – ice and hot in practice.Almost like a pair of elements dancing on my lungs. It was rather powerful, it made me forget my previous snuffle.
As I made my way towards the entrance of the trail, I began to notice the absurd amounts of snow mother nature had granted us. Buildings, signage and decorations were practically erased by the snow. For any surviving buildings, the snow had practically made them into igloos.
There most have been some form of renovation towards the ranger’s cabin – for it had a fresh coat of snow. The only visual aspect about the poor building were the windows, somehow surviving the wrath of the mountains. Yet, I can’t help but to pity those fools who had to use the bathrooms in those mountains.
If the mountains’s frozen howls weren’t occupying the airspace, I reckon I would hear the screams of those whose bottoms become connected to those disgusting outhouses.
One step after another, I began to leave steps in the communal trail. A path that was once destroyed by the snow and reborn by winter explorers. Luckily, the snow was heavily compacted. Preventing my feet from sinking deep into the snow. A nicety that was going to be nulled in the near future.
As I stared at the bleached landscape, I began to be caressed by the misty mountain. The mighty wind removed the warmth from my lips, like a welcoming kiss. I felt its mountains touch rub against my cheeks, A tingling sensation. A gust of wind traveled in the fabric of my jacket, losing the cloth I so desperately needed.
It sounds masochistic, to be toyed so willingly by the elements. But I strongly disagree, for this is the mountain gift to the world. The utter emotion and feeling that is so difficult to recreate.
I had pondered about the idea of emotion for a while. To me, Beauty and Emotion are intertwined. For I refuse to believe that beauty is superficial. A characteristic that can only be obtained by those lucky few, through serendipity.
This suggestion of beauty was actually proposed when I accidently met a stranger around a year ago. A stranger whom I never had the pleasure of meeting, yet, her impact in my life was so emotional, impactful and beautiful.
Her detailings will have to be spoken of another day, as her presence oversees me like a glaring moon. But, to simplify my findings, I thought that beauty to me is more the creation of emotion. Anyone can create something aesthetically pleasing, but true emotion? It is rarer than gold, marble and other trinkets.
The creaking pines slowly dispersed, all pointing at the main attraction of the hike: Bear lake. A lake that was once a hot destination for tourists, wild flowers and bears. There was once a serene lake next to these imagery flowers, now a thick layer of snow adorned the frozen lake. Untouched. As if no creature lived in these mountains. A backdrop of white rocky mountains accompanied by a white cloudy sky.
Such wonderful emotions rushed to my head. Amidst the frozen tundra, where my extremities dulled by the second and the air thinned by the minute. The mountain blessed me with a white canvas. Where it took my timid hand and guided it to paint a picture. An imagery of sheer ecstasy and inspiration. Where the strokes of paint bled into the snow creating new colors. Green, yellow, and blues began to adorn the newly created imaginary landscape. Where summer began to bloom in my mind.
The mountain colored me with the beautiful emotion of inspiration with a hint of proudness. Like a warm meal, with a side of hot chocolate. If my eyes could have reborn the rivers, it would try, for I truly was happy. I desire for the world to share such harmonious joy. So, I shall. I yearn to be as beautiful as a snowy mountain. Regardless of the imperfections, I want to paint summers in the psyche of those around me. For I understand what the frozen winters are like, and I now understand how to paint them into summers.
For I am fortunate to have learned this skill, a gift from the rocky mountains.
Now, I wish to use this present for those who struggle at painting their own summers.
Just like the mountain had colored me.
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