I Like Big Rocks, and I Cannot Lie

An alert came by email as I wrestled with my finances, checking receipts from a recent trip to Rocky Mountain National Park against the posted amounts on the credit card website. A new submission to a blog I follow was available. Resuming, the title of the post penned (can we say that anymore, in this age of  nothing but bits and bytes?) by a dear friend from high school was all I needed to abandon my chore for reading. 

After about eight months of not posting to his blog, my pal offered this: "So, I'm going to say right here that if you want to get started or restarted writing for others, give yourself permission to write something quick and small and meaningless, as long as that's not your 'thing' from here to eternity. Aim to improve, of course, but let yourself get loose like a rubber chicken." 

Coincidentally, it's also been eight months since I last wrote for others. Time to get loose. 

Five days of hiking in Colorado is something I spent a year training for, the key being to prep for elevations I had never experienced except in a pressurized airplane. My best pals from elementary and junior high school, one of their kids, and I were joined by two guys from Ohio who have known each other since college. We had all chosen the guided excursion in Rocky Mountain National Park through a trekking company familiar to three of us. 

I am home just over a day now, and am warmed by how deeply the mountains seeped into my bones. We climbed to waterfalls and lakes, traversed meadows, and scrambled up the eponymous rocky slopes all while sharing stories, laughing, and yes, often remaining silent except for the sound of sucking in air in altitudes ranging from 10,000-12,000 feet. 

On the second day, when from several yards behind I heard one of the Ohio guys exclaim, "REALLY!?" to something my BFF Lynette had said, I chuckled and realized how charming it was that he found us three both flabbergasting and funny. 

The next day, we rounded a curve and a stunning, sweeping view of peaks stopped us all in our tracks. Giant boulders, with trees tenaciously clinging in crevices, had me bursting into a version of Sir Mix-a-Lot's catchy tune. 

"I like big rocks, and I cannot lie!" I sung, no doubt out of tune. But the same Ohio guy, by now a hiking buddy to us all, doubled over laughing. His laugh was infectious. I can hear it now. It was just a moment, and soon we were all moving again. But these kinds of moments also get into a person's bones. 

These kinds of moments filled with friends, trees, rocks, trails, wildflowers, and wild animals have taught me things I am only beginning to understand.