The spring is new and alive. Winter hides stubbornly in its shadows. Snow banks cling to life as sunbeams nibble at them cancerously, leaving behind an abridged story of a once-great snowstorm. The weather is sublime and promises a once in a lifetime trip down the highway. It’s tempting to drop the top and imbibe the mountain air and sun, but all in due time. The engine purrs along as the speakers sing a familiar song composed just for me centuries prior to my existence. The road is especially void of motorists today, which pleases me to see few signs of man’s creations interfering with nature’s. I round the corner to find my favorite lookout point, good ol’ #3.
I pull in and park, drop the top, turn the music up, grab my coffee, and amble to the cliff’s edge. The morning sun is pie-sliced behind a massive mountain’s crest. A mountain dipped in white chocolate and sprinkled with green pines, like its mountain neighbor. The green is so vibrant, so vivid. The twin mountains divide narrowly and severely, plunging down to a breathtaking view of the distant Pacific Ocean. My heart skips a beat every time I view this modern day Eden.
The warmth of the sun tingles my flesh, a zephyr kisses my cheek. I close my eyes but the image lingers. A Bach sonata plays the keyboard of my soul.
Thirty minutes pass. The coffee has further stimulated my senses. Reluctantly I plod to my ‘66 and depart with a heavy heart. I traverse the winding road with the crisp mountain air mollifying me, panoramic views keeping me under their spell, the forest scent fueling me.
A profound day with a profound ending.
On a whim I accelerate. The surprised engine moans, the wind of passage drums my ears. I kiss my hand and transfer it to the dash; warmth emanates from the black vinyl like body heat from an aroused lover. I haven’t the heart to tell her, she is in too lovely a mood. The hairpin corner looms ahead.
Is it typical when reading a novel’s ending to reflect upon your emotional journey through its contents? I tend to skip that and write additional chapters in reverie. Maybe our most beloved novels end with new beginnings so our imagination can write the endings we yearn for most. In my humble opinion, How does it end? is a question better left unanswered, as it is kindling for dreams. Whatever didn’t pan out in life is only because the story hasn’t yet ended. It is just a lull in a larger story with an ending of Happily Ever After.