The Hike on a Sunday Morning
Schneeberg. Just a name of a mountain chain in Styria, Austria. It has no meaning to me, I don’t feel attached to it at all. On a Sunday we make our way up the hill. Up the mountain towards the summit cross. The weather is difficult. We can’t see anything at first. Dust hangs all over us.
Our hair is wet due to the cloudy mousse moving around us. The fog seems to be moving through us, almost as if it wants to catch our presence, catch our essence. It seems dangerous, but at the same time soothing. Suddenly it’s all different.
We can see again, the light shines on us, the mountains are visible. We made it up high, the wind blows through our hair. It has forgotten how dangerous invisible we were before that, we are now there. Standing up high. Feeling the blow of the wind. Opening our fingers, to enjoy the light smooth touch of it.
I smile towards the sun burning our faces and walk up lightly. My breathing is uneven, loud to my ears and I feel ashamed of my bad fitness condition. But the next second it’s almost forgotten. I see black birds taking their rounds over a roof top, with their yellow beak that I was told about but can just google on the internet to get a view of.
I feel free again, who cares. There is no other care in the world at the moment, than making it up the mountain, breathing hard and moving on. Getting to the top, where I may grow wings to fly.
Suddenly I hear a laugh, I turn and listen up. The joke is on me, but funny it is. And I am back, back to the here and now and I laugh out loud, because it’s too present to be away. It is good and funny and I keep on laughing because life should be about every single laugh.