Mountains

Native Texan that I am, I will always love Texas and be somewhat biased when comparing it to other states. There is something unique about the beauty and culture of Texas that will always pull at my heart strings. It's rugged and rusty and dusty and I love it.

I have never seen anything to equal a Texan sunrise or sunset, or a pasture blooming in the spring, or the intensity of a fall thunderstorm. But nothing at home could have prepared me for this:

I am silenced by the forests and mountains of Utah. Their majesty and proximity completely take my breath away. When I returned to Texas for Thanksgiving last year, I was beyond glad to be home, but I distinctly remember thinking, "...Where are the mountains?" Much of the Texan landscape stretches out to the horizon for miles and miles without a break in sight. The wide-open space is a characteristic I have loved about Texas. But now I know I cannot live without mountains. I miss them when I go home.

And they are in full glory right now. The leaves have turned, painting the mountains' faces with flaming gold and orange and crimson. Looking at them isn't enough for me. I want to explore every rocky crevasse until the sight of them is captured in my memory.

Last Sunday three of my roommates and I drove up into the mountains, when the trees were just beginning to don their fall dress. I wish this photo could convey the immense depth and space that I felt surrounding me at that moment, and how minuscule I felt in comparison.

It struck me as strange that the earth is of a definite, measurable size. Astronauts have seen the earth in its entirety from space, yet it holds so much, and parts of it remain remote and untouched. As I stood on that mountain, I was overwhelmed by a sense of the age of the earth, of its distinctness from us as wild and untamed, primitive and intimidating.

How grateful I am for the beauty and diversity of this place we call home.