19 January 2009

at the top

I climbed a mountain today. It was just a little mountain - 2.5 miles up the trail and 2.5 miles down - but it was the tallest mountain in its general vicinity and at the top, looking out over the series of snow-capped mountains that form the proximate slice of the Pacific Ocean's Ring of Fire - Mt. Rainier, Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Adams, Mt. Hood - I felt victorious and strong, as one should feel at the top of a mountain. I looked out at the world stretching in water to the west and in wooded hills to the east, and I was content.

On the pebbles and shale of the trail, I thought of Rwanda, as I have so often lately. I told S. and E. that they should see it. "We could climb Bisoke, which is a dormant volcano," I said, "and see the gorillas and hike in Nyungwe to see the colobus monkeys and maybe climb Nyiragongo, the active volcano, if there is no fighting in Congo right then."

But what I want to do the most is walk out the peninsula at sunset and smell the fishermen's cooking fire and watch the boys swim the cows back from the little island and see, from afar, the smoke rising from Mt. Nyiragongo.

Despite that, the top of a little mountain was enough today. I looked out over the world, and I was content. It is possible, it turns out, to miss a dozen places and a hundred people, and still be content where you are.

I walked out along a little ridge and sat on a rock high above a chasm. My stomach felt a little funny every time I looked down, but I stayed there anyway, and I looked down anyway. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear a plane that I could not see.

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