I miss the sense of place created by mountains.
You’d think you’d feel small and insignificant next to their imposing mass and vaulting heights, but to me they stand as roughly hewn testaments to the vastness of the world. The deepest plunging depths of the ocean become possible when soaring peaks nearly pierce the sky.
By contrast, the Midwest seems small and confining. The horizon line creates a finality that can defeat inspiration. The potential of Earth’s majesty becomes limited to the senses. Our highest points become as tall as the tallest tree. As distant as our field of vision. As cold or as warm as the seasons. And only as varied as the variety of people around us.
I do not need to climb the mountain. Knowing it exists is enough.