I see the rough boulders, weathered, rugged, heavy and imposing.
I touch the quartz in my hand, aged dirt falling at the rub of my thumb.
I smell heat on the rocks, baked in the sun, far above the tree line.
I hear only me and the mountain, a sense of freedom, solitude.
I taste the dirt as it flings up in my face while digging.
I see the true sparkle of an uncut gem, the way nature made it.
I touch the cold dirt, a reminder that the prospecting season is ending.
I smell my pack, tattered and dusty, ready to see another prospecting adventure.
I hear my whisper to the mountain, asking for a safe and prosperous day.
I taste the fresh water from a mountain stream, clean and cold.
I see respect for the never-ending clash between the mountain and weather.
I touch gemstones, unearthed with hard work, sweat and willpower.
I smell the success and the failure of those before me, coated in hope and aspiration.
I hear my heart beat, accelerated by the thrill of experiencing the mountain.
I taste success through the power of dogged determination.
|A mountain scene in Teller County, Colorado.|
Snow and ice are on Ute Lake in the foreground.
Eroded granite lines the lake shore.
Pikes Peak is in the distance.
Photo © Ben Elick