[My Vision]
by David Huebner (age 18 at the time of writing)

(written in 1998, during my senior year of high school, this won first prize in the school arts mag for Best NonFiction....it accurately describes many things, even if there are some funny lil' quirks, I've left it untouched/unrevised....)

It seems to me that you can see Life in the morning, when the mists are rising, and the ground is frosted, and the sun first hits the top of the peaks, and there¹s that glint, that sparkle, because the sun is hitting the ice hard snow and reflecting, and it¹s warming up, starting to melt, just starting, and maybe it¹s that first drop of water that forms that reflects that first direct ray of light like a prism, bang, right into your eyes, and it is then that you know you¹re alive, truly alive.

You may feel nervous, but that is quelled by the forest, by the gurgling streams, or the roaring cascades, or the absolutely still mirror of the lakes, or maybe you¹ll see a deer, or a bear, or a coyote, or a fox, or maybe it¹ll be the silence, you¹ll just stop and listen and be amazed that you can¹t hear anything except your heart and your breathing and your mind.

For me it¹s a comfortable walk, stroll, saunter, up the twisting trails, up the switchbacks, the endless moraines, and on up the daunting faces of the peaks in a relaxed stupor, yet hyper aware of everything, scared shitless sometimes, the world literally at my feet, so much space, so much air, so close to the edge that you become the edge, knife edge ridge, falling a 1000ft on both sides, but I don¹t make a mistake, and I live and write my name in the summit register looking out at the sea of endless mountains around me, endless world, endless beauty so awesome it¹s like a blur. I take pictures, but they cannot grasp a single fragment of the reality of the absolute horizon, and absolute purity of the moments spent on top.

Trying to fall asleep looking at the stars, so many dots of light in my face, never mind the red-eye flight screaming across ruining the serenity, or the mosquitoes doing their best to drive me insane, it¹s all part of the experience, alone in a sleeping bag, 11,000ft., below freezing, but I¹m warm in my underwear in my goose down bag all cozy, not going anywhere, not even sleeping, but even the mosquitoes sleep, and so eventually do I, and it¹s all worth it in the morning when I get to see what no one else gets to see as the world gets up and stretches its legs, yawns, and says, "And a good morning to you."

And I pack along the trail, the dusty trail, flash a smile and a quick hello to passersby, sometimes pass on information which I have a wealth of being that I live in the area, and yet despite my hospitality, some carry the attitude of the city with them and they seem like they¹re out there to "just do it" and be able to tell people back home that they did it, not for the pure joys of days spent in the open. I can deal with it only because I understand, being from the city, I can understand the Nike ads and the flashy Mountain Dew commercials, and all these geared up "Tommy Tourists" that I pass seem to also be imitating the pictures they see in the magazines like Backpacker, Sierra, Outside, et cetera, as if that were how things are supposed to be, as if that was how the people actually live who live The Life, like they¹re just one of us, but like I said, I understand and hold no hard feelings. At least they¹re getting out and seeing the world like so many don¹t.

It¹s been a long day sometimes. Maybe it¹s been 5 miles covered with a heavy pack, on top of 5 the day before that, on top of 8 before that, or maybe it¹s been 10 or 12 covered just that day with just some water, or maybe it¹s been a big peak, going above 13,000ft, I¹ve done that in less than half a day, nearly 14,000ft. actually, after work, and it nearly killed me, and like I said, it¹s been a long day sometimes, and I¹m just sittin¹ in my trailer, feet aching, listening to the sounds of my cd player playing probably some U2, or Big Head Todd, as well as the crackling of the intense fire I have raging in the wood burning stove not four feet away, and sometimes I think about my life and I realize that I am very alone, my best friends being the peaks, rivers, and valleys, they¹re hardly verbally communicative even if they speak so strongly to the soul. And in those tired nights, physically exhausted, mentally clear,and emotionally worked, I see also Life, but not in the mountains, not anywhere around me, I see it in my imagination. I see it in the wonderful clarity of her eyes, and the brightness, happiness of her smile, in the way she laughs, and how her hair blows in the wind, and how she is so beautiful, and I don¹t know who she is, or what she really looks like, I only know that she is there, somewhere, and that her intensity is greater and more powerful than the mountains which reflect the sun into my eyes, or the streams that sing nature¹s songs in my ears. I know she is the one and I think about her, and when will I find her, because I need her, because sometimes I don¹t see Life in the mountains or the starry night sky, sometimes I see loneliness and emptiness, and I wish I could see it with her, see her face, or tell her stories, or feel her love, because as much Life as the world can give, as much as nature can give, is only half what it can be if you don¹t have Love, and I¹m only half what I am without her.

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