They say home is where the heart is, so I guess my home is the mountains; the Smokey mountains; to be more exact. When you spill blood, cry tears, and shed a lot of sweat in a beautiful place you become a part of it, and it becomes a part of you. I will never forget the feeling of the cool, fresh rain as it pelted me. At times the drizzle was seemingly there only to add to the dazzling effect of nature. Light shot through those little drops, setting my eyes on fire. Captivating, empowering was that rainbow those drops later created. A torrential downpour combined with wind made me amazingly wet, and I mean I was literally waterlogged, and dangerously cold. Someone could have poured ice from the Arctic down my shirt and I would have thanked them for the heat it would have brought me. In these moments I developed willpower and learned that complaints are pointless. .
The rain does not stop because you are cold and muddy. The sunlight will not cease to exist for your mere plea for more sleep. The mornings made up for the rainy afternoons. I was invigorated and warmed by the sunlight. Standing on that slope, random to many, I felt something, I felt more alive than I had in nearly a year. The trees below me were shaking in excitement, they could not wait for that sunlight to come and feed them. They wanted to give me oxygen, and that they did. I inhaled the clearest, crispest air I had ever had . My skin took it all in, my soul oozed contentment, and the other mountains in front of me seemed to be calling. .
The light was pure, just like the stars, each sunrise was picture perfect. The birds literally chirped, and I can not blame them I felt as if I could fly into the sky and chirp with pure joy. When I sat there the rich, bright, green grass told me many stories, it told me I was not the first to touch it and that I would not be the last. The soil created a cushion under that grass welcoming me home.