Maybe The Next One

Life is made up of two kinds of people.

There are those who grumble that the path is much too steep, the ground is frightfully uneven, those rocks are slippery, the humidity is too high, and, who knows, I might get stung by a bee!

And there are those who feel an invitation to the mystery waiting over the crest of the hill, wonder what demons or delights might be on the other side, then give in to a curious compulsion to find out.   Are they always glad they climbed the hill?  No, of course not.  But once in awhile, often enough to keep wonder alive, I stand on a place where sky meets earth and see jagged mountains as I’ve never seen them before, or a sloping valley filled with bright yellow flowers swaying in a gentle breeze sliding down the ravine, or glimpses of young deer grazing on sweet meadow grass, or the melody of a winding stream that could neither be seen nor heard from below.  And when that happens I know that the climb, slippery rocks and all, was worth it.

I hope I will always experience life as one who is impertinently inquisitive.

I hope I will always have the courage required to risk the finding.

I hope my joy in discovery will never surrender to a casual complacency that destroys the soul of wonder.

I hope I will live to my last day with the good sense to realize that when my anticipation is disappointed at the top of the hill, I can smile and whisper to myself:  “Maybe over the next one.”