Two days he had, that was all. The gas mask is securely fitted, the truck is put into drive and up the mountain road he climbs, to elevations above 12,000 feet.
Rocky Mountain National Park becomes his sanctuary.
He finds a dirt road that doesn’t look well traveled. A perfect place to find that open vista so he can sit and cloudburst the heavens in his mind.
Traveling on, he finds the bluest of glacial lakes, with snow still clinging to the waters edge. Marmots are playfully sliding in the snow, unaware or perhaps not caring about the strangers watching them.
“A marmot is not a bad choice for my spirit animal in the next life.”
A trail takes his burning lungs to new heights. Up here all willpower and self control is gone, but he has no worries and relinquishes all control to the Great Mother.
A rocky outcrop seems to call out danger, yet it is a call he can not ignore. Carefully stepping upon loose stone, he makes his way out to the cliffs edge, and watches the afternoon thunderstorm roll across the valley.
Herds of mighty elk graze on the tops of the majestic mountains. He sits on the edge of the great expanse, and breathes in the fresh air, letting it heal the toxicity that has permeated old cellular tissue and wasted muscle, renewing the soul for another day.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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