Height. That wind whipped thing that leaves you reeling and a bit dizzy. You can get the authentic thing or you can receive the illusion of it from vacations and achingly beautiful experiences—and, readers, I have felt—or should I say still feel—the latter.
It all began on Wednesday the 26th of November...the day I went to Chicago for the second time in my life. We ran around the city until our toes and faces nearly froze. We ate collard wraps with oozy chickpea filling (some of us had chilli). We dodged goose-down parka and fur lined boot wearing crowds and had our breath taken away at the magnificent stores clad in their sparkling light bedecked holiday raiment. We became midgets in our own sight looking up at 100 floor buildings, and in our big suburban we drove around the dark streets underneath them, pretending (well at least I did) that I was Very Wealthy. It was all incredible, but most of all there was the skyline and it was everything I had remembered and hoped it still would be.
I have always lived in the country, hence I can't legally have any sentimental memories associated with the city. I also know that I have really only seen the magnificent side of it and I know that—as there is anywhere—there is much dirt and grime and General Unpleasantness about cities. Yet, there is something about a real city skyline, rising upon the horizon with all the enticement of a distant mountain range, albeit one that is man-made sculpted out of iron and concrete, that thrills me to my very finger-tips... But then I have always had a love for mountains, with their angles and depth and their swift, stirring exhilaration.
Of course, we had to leave it and return to the quiet—well, it probably would be quiet if not for the hounds—of country life, with its round of farm boots and squelchy mud, velvety cats, delicious horsey smell mixed with hay, and the Christmas lights my brother and youngest sis just finished putting up on the garden fence and the house (even inside the house)! It is all just so lovely and terrific and though I would love to experience real city life once more, I am also most thankful for my current pleasant pastures for, as Arwen reminded me with a somewhat stern eye, where else can I have the feel of warm horsehair always near my finger-tips? But even in that, what in this mortal creation is more stirred with the glory and strength of the wind than a horse? Not much, I say, and we could all use a little more of it. So go take a hike, literally, and take it anywhere in town or country or best of all city—walk in wondering awe at His creation all about you and breath deeply of cold wind.