mountain time

In Jamaica, the term "island time" was all about taking it nice and slow, easy does it, and who needs a watch anyway?

In the mountains, time and again I've found that time doesn't seem to slow. There are no tides to watch or sand to run your toes through... there isn't a pulse of life to ponder just beneath the surface. Nothing here to pattern your heartbeat after, nothing to calm the noise like a mother's breath or soothing lullaby.

Mountain time seems not to be a slowing of time. Time seems to stop altogether. Completely.

For hours, the sun resides behind the giants who've called this place home longer than I can imagine. The clouds come and go, up and down the mountainsides but only for a little while. Angel fire might remind you to slow down and take a breath or two, but she's gone before you can grab your camera or a nearby loved one. She's a rogue visitor, and gone before she matters much.

The mountains stand unchanged, unmoved, unyielding in their power and strength. All you can do, really, is look at them. It's awe-inspiring to see their heights and know you could never just stroll on up there on a casual whim. These beasts aren't so easily taken. Their mysteries are ancient, hidden and not carelessly given away. Even a wind whisper from the glorious ranges don't tell the full story. Such rumors only tease and tempt the wandering soul.

For several minutes, at least, I took in their vastness. Sipping tea slows time, but sitting beneath a majestic mountain range blurs it all together... a seamless breath that can't be held or controlled. You can literally forget it's there, this requisite labor of mere mortals. So truly, time stands still. As do they.

I'm taking the day to enjoy stopped time. My much needed inner improvements will just have to wait. Wait for tomorrow... that is, assuming that time moves forward and tomorrow comes after all.