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I stare outside the window at the mountain beyond the house.  I listen to its wildness, here amidst the city, a refuge reminder of the feral and wild.  I am surprised by my heart in such contemplations, leaning as it does toward the gentle slopes with the ardent desire of a lover. Though I am cloaked in sweaters, shawls and shearling boots within the walls of a heat controlled environment, I  find myself longing for the un-tame expanse with a tangible ache. Recently, I considered my ever changing reflection in the mirror and listened to the voices of our collective expectations focused on uniformity, enamored with youth and beauty.  I listened and realized with a start that the bloom of youth has passed.  I am spring no more, nor early summer.  I stood contemplating this and listening to the tinny voices of our culture, implanted in my earliest ear and I laughed.  I laughed at the sameness and all it implied.  I laughed at the wrinkles and I laughed at the effort.  I laughed at the longing and the expectations.  I laughed and something within me stirred, wild, like my mountain amidst the city.  Untame and untamable.  Suddenly it didn't matter.  None of it.  Home and safety, romance and desire, success or failure.  None of it matters.  The wind blows.  The snow falls.  Life simply is.  

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