I saw them the other day. The famed, mystical mountains that supposedly rim this great city and can be seen in the distant horizon, if ever a clear enough day presents itself. The old timers say they used to see them several times a year. More recently, it's down to maybe one or two days if you're lucky. I have not seen them since we arrived here, nearly ten months ago.
But then, a steady and unfamiliar breeze blew all morning, and something I remember from a dream called white clouds started to appear in the sky with patches of blue all around them, and the sun seemed bright and hot and hurt our blessed eyes. And then I saw them. The mountains! They really are there. The stories are true.
The school year is coming to a close and in many ways I am feeling like we have reached a reprieve in our journey of moving and adjusting. The mountain viewing the other day was just another reminder of that, and I couldn't help but see the broad themes of our life here rising up in my mind along with those distant peaks. So much of what we hear about, the stories of truth that we hold on to for strength and structure are unseen. We get a glimpse from time to time, maybe. But they are there, and they are beautiful and real and unmoved.
The clouds have parted lately and so has the mood that has clung to us for nearly a year. I can feel myself relaxing into this place. I can sense that I may just have it in me to grow to like it, to even call it home.