Guest Post: Recharge Season

The sun sets on summer.

I rest my back against the mossy log and feel the soft dirt beneath my feet, pulling off my heavy wet hiking boots and think about how soon (too soon) this campsite will be blanketed in a cold, unfeeling snow.

I’ve always resisted autumn. August wanes and I cling desperately to my days of sunshine, basking in the grass and gazing up at the evening sky, asking her for just one more minute of warmth. Begging her to reverse the slight chill that’s come to the breeze, imperceptible at first but impossible to ignore.

Summer is my re-charge season. The first time my tires roll over the vista and into the clear mountain air, my anxiety melts away and I whoop and holler like I’m five years old again. The first warm hike is like a breath — no, a gasp — of fresh air, filling my lungs with the intoxicating grit of rustling aspen leaves and sending an instant rush into my bloodstream. There’s something addicting up here. It’s more than just adrenaline.

And all season I charge. With every step forward, every foot of elevation gain, my energy only grows and my wintery walls come crashing down. And all season I climb on. Around every curve there might be more. Every birdsong calls. Every elk beckons. I’m exploring the forest, but somehow, I always seem to be finding myself. 

This summer, of course, looked different. It’s 2020, and fellow hikers smiled only with their eyes and backed away. It felt like an alternate universe.

There are a million things I should, or could, be doing right now. Traveling for work. Visiting family. Attending trainings and classes and fairs and lurking for a table in a crowded restaurant full of people so I can shout over my plate at my dinner companion.

Instead, I am here. The sun has almost set. It’s still, and quiet, and the trees are silhouetted against the darkening sky.

I’ve always found myself up here. But somehow this summer, in the middle of a spinning universe, in the middle of being forced to stay home, I’ve found a friend, too. In the midst of the chaos around us, there is still an inner peace. The trees listen. The lakes embrace. The stones see. And I am reminded that though the season may be nearing an end, the calling is always present. And even when winter comes, the mountain will still be there. We are distant, but we are not alone.

The mountains are in my soul.

The sunshine is in my heart.

I have charged. I am ready.