My Ridge

I have a place that I disappear to when everything in life seems to be going wrong. When work gets too stressful, when my professors start rambling about chlorophyl, and when the clock in church seems to have stopped ticking. The place I go is somewhere in the mountains of Wyoming miles from roads, people, and my cell phone.

It is my horse and I riding across a steep ridge. You can see the snake river on one side and a vast sea of pine trees on the other. All I can smell are pine trees on the breeze.

I have rode my horse across My Ridge in picture perfect fall weather with golden Quaken-Aspen leaves in the background and my 300 Winchester in my scabbard. On the other hand, I have also rode across My Ridge in a summer lightening storm that seemed to dance all around me and drench me with rain. I have rode across My Ridge in snow two feet deep and below freezing temperatures. This past fall I rode across my ridge in the light of a full moon, with a stiff icy wind on the back of my neck. Regardless of the weather My Ridge always brings peace to my soul because I know I am going somewhere far from any worries and close to everything I love.

I don't have enough fingers and toes to count the times I have rode across my ridge, especially if you count all the times I ride it when the clock stops in church.

Genesis 19:17 "... escape to the mountain, lest thou be consumed."