Sunday, December 30, 2012

Hemmed In

Grey clouds closed in on the foothills bringing flurries of snow. He sipped his Costa Rican coffee and watched as the moons reflection danced off the puddles and ice outside. His broken ankle made snowshoeing impossible. He was hemmed in like the mountains.

Salt and pepper dotted his hair now. Days like this he missed the freedom of youth. Life was good but there always felt like there was more out there someplace. He thought that maybe it went beyond the mountains and past the pristine pools of blue sheltered in their valleys. Perhaps there was a brighter place where you never felt hemmed in. Battered bodies and broken bones don’t matter there, maybe. Retired and restricted aren’t words there because you are living in fullness of who you are. He lifted his gaze to the hill tops and pondered.

Searing white pain hissed in his head as he twisted the ankle the wrong way en route to the porch. He kicked his feet up onto the railing, water drops flying and flakes falling as he did so. He’d heard stories of that place beyond the snow caps. They said pain didn’t dwell there; said the price of admission had been paid by a king and the ticket was free now. His feet came off the rail and without thinking he set his elbows in their place. Straining almost imperceptibly his body leaned outward. He believed in that place. He drank another sip of coffee. “Beauty here is beautiful,” he thought, “but it still doesn’t satisfy.” He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.

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