The mountain air was cool, with the bite of winter in the air. The area we were hiking had recently had it's first dusting of snow, covering the rocks and the yellowed grass with a layer of white which reflected the sun and caused the surrounding colors to pop as if someone had suddenly turned up the saturation; the cobalt blue of the lakes below, the deep green of the pines, even the speckled grey of the rocks. In the distance too we could hear the cowbells singling the location of the beasts from whose neck they hung, even though we could not actually see the animals through the hills.

Becs and I were sitting on the mountainside, taking a short break as we made the final ascent of our hike in Klingenstock, on our way back to the small mountain town of Stoos. We sat silently, watching the birds fly overhead and taking in the view of the mountains surrounding us, an endless expanse of peaks reaching as far as we could see. And although the air was chilled, the climb had warmed us enough to remove a few layers, leaving our arms bare to the early winter sun.

Sitting there, nearly finished with our day’s journey, my hear squeezed as I looked out over the peaks. It ached, but in that pleasant way, as when you see someone you love in the distance who is unaware that you have spotted them; or that feeling of finally arriving home after being away.

It had been too long since I’d been in the mountains - real mountains - and there is something about being in great expanses of nature that feels spiritual. Particularly with mountains, because the thing about the mountains is, they speak to you. (Or perhaps, instead, its actually your own heart talking, finally getting a chance to speak in the quiet.)

At first, all they ask of you is simply to be - to be where you are and think what you’re thinking and breathe in the fresh air. And maybe that’s meditation, or maybe its not, but it feels like a necessary thing. Then, the conversation begins. And so they ask, “Where have you been?", "What has kept you away for so long?” and, “How are you living?“

Each silent answer I give reveals truths I haven't faced in a while. And you cannot lie to the mountains, as that would be lying to the face of God. And so the questions continue, “And is this life the one you want?" they ask. "What is it that you want?” and then, “What are you afraid of?”

Losing some courage I reply “Maybe I don’t really know what I want and maybe it doesn't matter anyway. Happiness is found in many ways."

But the mountains are ancient and wise, and so they reply, “Its true, happiness is found in many ways. It is also true that you do know what you want; you do. And it does matter. And already you know how to do it. Have courage dear heart, and patience.”

My heart squeezes again. I don’t ever want to leave the mountain top. Everything seems so clear up here. So easy. When we descend the air will get thicker with expectation and worry and fear. And so i'm faced with a challenge i'm not sure I can face; finding the courage to live the life the mountains reminded me of while being above the madness, above the crowds, above the noise of life.