I first saw the Rocky Mountains in 1976 on my way to live with a boy. That fell apart. Same boy calls me to the Alps of Switzerland in 1984. That falls apart. He seeks me out in 1986, proposes, then takes me to the mountains of New Mexico. That blew apart like a volcano. When I wrote this piece in 1988, I realized that I feel most alive and most myself when Iβm in or near mountains. I conflated that feeling with deep feelings for the boy. The boy died in 1991. Iβm told on the day he died he wondered aloud if it was possible we could get back together again.
Carolyn F. Chryst, Ph.D.