‘It’s a shame the single mountain women are complained about more than celebrated, for they are more beautiful than the mountains themselves,’ he thought, as two young women passed him as he hiked along Tony’s Trail.
All the cliché sayings he’s heard about mountain women. “You don’t lose your girlfriend you just lose your turn,” and of course the ever uttered, “There’s no women in this town.” A phrase he often heard from a fool’s mouth, while he sat on a barstool and a woman stood right behind him.
Though his heart had been broken several times, he still had to utmost respect for the mountain women. A wise friend once told him you can only truly live or love after your heart has been crushed. The hope of meeting another Mountain Honey filled him with desire and longing, as strong as a shivering person camping in the cold, waiting for the sun to rise.
He took another step along the trail, then he looked back to admire the women, as they rode by on their mountain bikes. They had the look: strong legs, shining faces, and beautiful hair that bounced down to their breasts. He recognized the two, married perhaps, definitely not available. Some say all the good ones are taken, but had these beauties not once arrived to the Valley single? They probably arrived in beat up old pickup trucks, perhaps intending only to stay for a summer in the mountains. Full of energy and life, wild as the wind, full of so much love that had to be met with the love of someone else.
He thought of what he wanted, what he needed, and what he had experienced before. There were the nights making love under the autumn stars; the wildest and purest emotions erupting into the most fabulous sensations he’d ever known. Then to wake up naked; freezing in the middle of the night, as he and his lover climbed into the pickup truck for shelter.
Then there were the endless winters without love, when he had no confidence to approach women. Followed by the birth of spring, and the rebirth of self, and knowing his confidence would be restored. He could and would again manifest love. That just as the birds always sing again, and the flowers will bloom, he would love again.
He took another step on the trail, it was June, but spring was still in the air. The flowers had yet to bloom in Crested Butte, but the sagebrush smelling as sweet as ever. With the current of possibilities of how amazing the summer could be, he looked down to the town of Crested Butte. A Mountain Honey, surely there was one for him down there. He had confidence in his steps, as town grew closer. He knew as summer grew closer, he was closer to the most fabulous joy on earth, romancing with a Wild Mountain Honey.
1 comment:
This is one of my favorites. Write on, my friend. Write on.
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