My Vacation in Pictures
The rain is pouring outside much as it had that day. I remember the pressure of the drops on my head and how it felt when I looked up and let it hit my face. The beautiful creature beneath me was frazzled by a pesky fly seconds before the rain began but was now relieved to find the weather had graced him, too. We were on top of a mountain by horseback. We had managed to make it two-thirds around the mountain--all the way up and halfway down--before the rain began. The mountain tops shimmered in the sunlight, but in the rain there was something more peaceful about watching the humid air cast fog across each peak. It's as if my eyes were swimming in a sea of poppies--tranquility everywhere I looked, out on the blue curves and points of the rocks far away. When it was still sunny outside, the trees opened up and I could see the mountains that stretched states away. Forever. Forever is how far away I felt. No problems. No pain. No fear.
After our horses managed to gallop to the top of a steep incline, the woods opened up yet again to a field that stretched to more woods far from us, only broken up by our trail that our horses, in single-file, made their way down. For them, it was a memorized journey. For me, it was all new and treasured. That's when the rain came. It started sprinkling and the group laughed in unison--we thought we had missed the forecast's predictions just this once. Then the rain picked up in pressure, falling so fast we were covered from head-to-toe. I looked out on the misty mountains and couldn't believe that I was able to experience the sight for myself. In a world of special effects, it's hard to tell what's real anymore. But those misty mountains, that horse and that rain were my reality. There were no shallow feelings or superficiality there. It was raw exposure.
We weren't riding up the mountain in our finest clothes and finest faces. We were stripped down and our eyes were wide open. And the world seemed even more beautiful than it did before.
We were scared it would rain by the third day. The forecast read heavy rain all day, but we all agreed the weather was rarely predictable. The rain would have kept us away, but when it came during our journey, it was a gift. It gave the experience new perspective; I needed that perspective.
I spent much of the trip with my younger brother, exploring the mountain our cabin sat upon with a camera nearby to find that different perspective. We found new views, new angles and new memories. Together we were in the sun's warmth, glowing--even tired we were blissfully removed from what we knew too well. The cabin sat by the river and my father spent most of his time fishing for trout, only to catch small mouth bass. But even he couldn't remove the smile from his face. The way the river folded over the rocks as rapids, filled the air with a thick sound. We had a hard time talking over it, but maybe that was the point. Perhaps we were meant to just sit, think and enjoy the moment.
I still peak through the trees hoping I'll see the mountains there, but we are not at the cabin anymore. The river isn't crashing against rocks right by my head as I sleep. But the view from here isn't any less beautiful. It is home. I love sitting by this window. The rain has stopped, and the light is glimmering off of the droplets that remain. It's the nutrients that make our gardens grow. It reminds me of the four days we packed up what we needed and hid away in the beautiful mountains of Ellijay.