Light:
the natural agent
that stimulates sight and makes things visible.
King’s
Peak is the first place to see the light in Utah. It reaches 13,528
thousand feet above sea level and hides away from the urban world.
When the sun shows itself on the peaks, the light shines brightly on
the dew and changes things. It is silent in the high Uinta Mountain
range. Not a single sound can be heard, but the world beginning to
awaken.
The
sun comes up now. Its vibrancy crests precariously behind the purple
mountainside, only enough though, to show it’s there but hidden
just the same. The beautiful light seems to stay there for much
longer than necessary. It doesn’t want to come out and be seen, but
instead wants to be mysterious. The sun wakes up and the morning
rises. It condemns the night owls.
The
sun shines in through the windshield as I’m taken to school. The
car ride holds an eerie quiet today. My mom isn’t telling me
something and I can tell. I can always tell. Last time she told me
about an abnormality in her mammogram, and the time before that about
my grandpa’s failing health. My throat wants to ask the question,
but it hurts too much to speak. The early morning atmosphere is tight
and constricted. The air still holds onto sleep and the feeling of
calm. Yet, I know that there will be no sign of sleep. Instead, I can
hear a secret being whispered and lost in our muttered translation. I
love secrets, but this time it feels quite different.
Work:
activity
involving mental or physical effort done in order to achieve a
purpose or result.
Some
say that being a mother isn’t work; mothers just wake up and take
their children to school. The rest of their day is spent sitting
eating bonbons and watching soap operas. Mothers do more than that
though. They are the mother: the person who watches, cares for, and
teaches children to be good people. They are left with the
responsibility to build and create little beings who become adults in
the real world.
She
tells me that she wants to get a job again. She needs help putting
her resume together. She feels like she isn’t doing enough to help
my dad financially. She feels like she needs to take some of the load
off. She turns 46 this year and he grows closer to 61. Their age
hasn’t always mattered, but she worries that her social security
won’t be enough to sustain her when my dad finally leaves for good.
She needs a job. I think I’m mad at her for this.
The
hike up to King’s Peak stretches 16 miles just one way. The trail
opens at the base of a mountain with deep lines of erosion running
laterally. The small lakes and subtle tree lines showcase the best of
the world. The snow stays on the mountain well into summer, with a
slight breeze touching down on the wildflowers. Sweat from the nape
of the neck keeps the air cool. The long hike was worth the journey.
Mother:
a woman in
relation to a child or children to whom she has given birth;
bring up (a
child) with care and affection.
My
mother used to wake us by tickling our tired bodies. She turned on
our bedroom lights in the winter and opened the blinds in the spring.
The light flooded our unconscious minds and pushed us to begin to
awaken. We anticipated the laughing and smile while pretending to be
asleep. Our day became better when we woke up like this.
I
always imagined myself as a mother one day. I’m not even close to
marriage, yet I’ve picked out names that I like. I think this act
of insanity is the result of something girls do when we are young;
much like the cliché pairing of our crush’s last name with our
first. So I always wanted to be a mother.
There
is someone who resides on King’s Peak. She talks to the animals;
they are slightly more comfortable with humans than should be
natural. She touches all the individual leaves on the trees and runs
her fingers through the stubbly grass. The high Uinta Mountain ranges
is not kind to the faint at heart, yet she is comfortable here.
Mother Nature belongs.
Aging:
the process of
growing old.
The
sun is setting now as I exit the library and head towards the waiting
red car. The vibrancy that once was in the air is gone. It dissipated
this morning when the day began, and the new is suddenly old.
My
mother has grey hair. I always thought it was understandable for my
father to show signs of aging, but never for my mother. She still
laughs the same but now she wants to get a job. She seems the same
underneath but her surface is beginning to change. I think she is
becoming like my father; serious and stressed. Things have altered
for her. She needs an outlet.
The
leaves on King’s Peak are changing colors and the temperature is
dropping. The blanket of dew is now a heavy coat of wet cold. The
winter is moving in with a swift wipe, leaving hiking and climbing
only for the strong at heart. The season is changing and moving
quickly in a new direction. It is no longer green and alive, but will
consist of a white steadiness.
