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And the Thin Air Fills

July 22, 2011

Want to write with us on Fridays?  Want to let yourself go, for 5 freeing minutes, without worrying if you’re doing it all right, saying it all perfectly, or typing it all exactly as it should be?  Want to just spend 5 minutes writing purposefully, without stopping or editing yourself away?  Then come on over to The Gypsy Mama’s 5 Minute Friday and write with us!

Our topic this week: full.

Go.

I feel like I write the same story over and over.  It’s a coming home story, a welcoming back story, a story of finding myself again and again in this place I wish to be.  It’s the same story I keep coming back to, the same one that fills me and refuels me and revitalizes me.  Will it be possible to ever be full without being here?

I am running.  I am running up a hill with the Colorado sun on my back and the dust from the trail sticking to the calves of my legs.  I am running and sucking in the air so hard I can taste blood in my mouth.  I squeeze water out of the cold rag my mother insisted I bring with me, and she was so right that I would need it, and I let the water drip down my forehead and underneath my sunglasses and onto my cheeks.  It is a moment of bliss.

The air is thin and yet it fills me up somehow.  I gasp and I gasp as I make my way up this hill, desperate for Colorado and mountains and the space of the plains to consume me.  Fill me up.  Fill into every fiber of my being and stay there.  Just stay.  I think I could be happy all day out here.  The peaks of the mountains that burn of deep, deep purple and [hues] of blue.  The depths of those mountains that go back, layer upon layer, into a shadowy stack of triangles.  I am captured and enraptured and all other lovely verbs that describe being pulled in, drawn in, eaten up whole.

I make it up my hill and think about stopping.  But I’m afraid if I do it might all disappear.  If I keep running, if I keep my breathing desperate, the Rocky Mountain air will be forced to keep filling me.  Filling me, filling me, filling me until there is so much in me that I just might last until the next time I come back here.  Until the next time my shoes meet this trail and my eyes meet these peaks and my spirit and my soul meet the freedom and peace and wildness of the West.  Until the next time.

Stop.

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4 Comments leave one →
  1. July 22, 2011 8:44 pm

    Beautiful writing. I love to run. Running in the mountains? That’s two times the wonderful-ness!

  2. July 23, 2011 12:50 am

    Oh, I love this one! Filling up with thin mountain air – how you must love this place. I can practically taste/see it from your description – and I get altitude sickness. So I don’t want to be there, but I want to see/feel what you are seeing/feeling. Well done, really well done.

  3. July 23, 2011 11:06 am

    There is just something about running that is freeing and filling of so much beauty. Lovely post!

  4. July 23, 2011 9:41 pm

    Lauren – I ask the same question. How do YOU always know how to write exactly what I’m thinking? Running is freeing. Your writing always inspires me. Thank you.

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