The clouds waited not for anyone to see or touch them. And still, gliding off the chairlift, their cottony down presence pulled me toward the ridge. Thick whiteness filled the valley below. Surrounded by blues, whites, and distant purples, I almost believed I could walk upon the thick cloak at my feet. I longed to skim my fingers across its fleecy surface, even as I knew my very touch would dissolve the moment before me.
If only I could exist in the same effortless being, for everyone and for no one. Clouds being clouds. Mountains being mountains. Snow being snow. Me being me. Unfazed by watching or being watched, we’d flow with the rhythms of nature. For the sake of the moment and nothing else.
Each moment, a pristine and untouched basin of time, holds this same potential. This untouched moment waits neither for recognition nor purpose. This moment welcomes us into its folds without expectation. Like the clouds, we can fill our moments with glorious, effortless being.
Back on the ridge, I filled my lungs with gratitude, joy, and wonder at what this moment had become. I stored it all in the deepest center of my being before strapping in my back foot, taking one last look at the fluffy sea before me, and making my way down the mountain.