I'm alone once again, having left my truck, the city of Santa Fe, my friends and my troubles behind. As I ascend I will forget about the homework, the midterms, and the family nagging; at least for an hour or two. I am slowly making my way to one of the many peaks that surround Santa Fe, following a path that winds its way up the side of the mountain. The dirt below my feet crunches underneath the weight of my boots as I walk rhythmically: One step, two step, one step, two step, left foot, right foot, left, right. I perfectly time my breath, which reveals itself in the morning air, so I do not exhaust myself early on in the hike. I am dressed very warmly, completely opposite of my last hike when I stripped my jacket from my overheated body. I hum "The Cave" by Mumford and Sons as I climb.
The air is still, and the trees that tower over me seem to be frozen. Frozen in a time where man didn't exist, and they watch my arrival warily, along with the dozens of animals I encountered, but did not see. Their movement, their dashes for cover as I passed, were the only noises that interrupted the silence of the forest.
Forty minutes after the start of my climb, I reach the end of the trail. I pause, catching my breath and I look out over the landscape at Santa Fe. It seems so far away. The bustling of the traffic, tourists and retirees don't even emit a whisper into the air from this distance. The sound of the wind is all I hear, like last time. Unlike last time, the air bites at my cheeks and ears, playfully nibbling at the skin as it passes through me. I close my eyes and, as if in routine, inhale deeply, smelling the Spirit around me.
I missed this place.
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