My husband left home today to hike to the top of another mountain. He does this about once a month. When he feels the need to clear his mind and shake off the urban decay, I find him in the back of the house organizing his gear. I don’t mind. The truth is he always returns home somehow better than when he left. Hiking is a spiritual experience for Patrick. He connects with his Higher Power when he is alone on the trail. Some friends have suggested that we should hike together, so I’ve gone with him a few times. I’m happy to report that my God is alive and well at sea level.

My help is in the mountain
Where I take myself to heal
The earthly wounds
That people give to me.
I find a rock with sun on it
And a stream where the water runs gentle
And the trees which one by one give me company.
So must I stay for a long time
Until I have grown from the rock
And the stream is running through me
And I cannot tell myself from one tall tree.
Then I know that nothing touches me
Nor makes me run away.
My help is in the mountain
That I take away with me.
Nancy Wood