Close To It

February 12, 2011 | Leave a Comment

George valued proximity. Grew up in the suburbs, but always felt drawn to the mountains. Went there whenever he could as a teenager–jumped into the old car and drove up north to be as deep in the woods as possible. For as long as possible.

George never felt really comfortable around more than one person at a time, but in the mountains, he was at ease. At peace. Felt a companionship he never could quite explain.

Life passed, obligations came and stayed, and George made it to the mountains less and less. And he grew more and more uneasy. He would lay awake in bed at night and, in his mind, he was in the woods. While working during the day, his thoughts would stray to the sound of the pine trees sighing in the mountain breeze, the splash of lake waves on the shore, the call of the hawk. In his mind.

One day, George did not show up for work. His old car was nowhere to be found. Folks looked for him; folks looked for his car. Neither of them was ever found.

Some folks thought George was a bit odd. Me? I think he was about as close to his Creator as it is possible to get.

Remember.

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