Although the altitude should have been the reason for his labored breathing, truth be told it was the beauty that stole the air from his lungs.
He wasn’t looking for Turquoise Lake, yet the break in the tree line along the trail showed him exactly that. So he stopped for an infinite amount of time to watch the clouds race across the skyline.
Railroad tracks carrying promises and dreams of yesteryear. He touches the steel that is warm in the summer sun, then sits and meditates in the wilderness.
The quiet of his surroundings stirs a call deep within. He rises, turns one hundred and eighty degrees, and starts walking.
The withering heights and railroad ties seems to be in control now. He unwinds like yarn from a spool.