Cresting the hill, before me rise mountains, shadowed and sun-dappled. Mysterious and ether-like, mists dance across crags, and my heart leaps. A persistent, sharply painful, tug on my chest leans my body forward, but "WAIT, HOLD!" demands my mind.
Slowly, with steadiness and a constraint, my eyes are forced to the simple path, leading down into the wide valley. Reason dictates I go this way. What use have rocks and spires of collegiate learning?
Wilderness continues on, in ways odd and vibrant, regardless of man's knowledge. In valley and plain, I can ply my trade and make my fortune-future.
But, oh, how my mountain bred soul longs for me to turn from my self-appointed path and follow once again, with reckless abandon, shafts of daylight and hanging shadows over precipices and down jagged hollows; chasing the harsh and gentle (peaceful and violent) teacher of my youth: the wilderness - unbridled and unfettered - that still resonates with my being, even after years under the taming hand of city and academia./p