Spring Thaw

Tuesday, April 1 ~ Albuquerque, New Mexico

I open my eyes as the sun crests the Sandia Mountains and know that, whatever else I do today, I must drive to the summit.

I don't know how I know it. I don't know why I have to do it. I only know that I must.

It's 3 p.m. before I leave the house, and as I drive down Tramway Boulevard to I-40, I wonder if I've waited too long. You see, it's been three years since the only other time I've driven to the top and I can't remember how long it takes to get over to the east side of the mountain and make the 5,000-foot climb.

In fact, all I remember about that February drive is that it was winter, the snow was thick and heavy on the roadside slopes, and the wind at the summit was so cold and bitter that all I could do was run out for a lightning-quick glimpse at the view from 10,000+ feet and dash back into the car.

Albuquerque was one of my earliest stops three years ago when I left Sedona in the wake of my marriage break-up. And my summit drive was one of the first things I did when I got here.

As I drive the winding road today, past the rocky bluffs and sentinal stands of pine, the first thing that strikes me is the lack of snow. "Of course," I say, "it's April. Most of the snow has melted."

And then I get it. On my first drive up here, I was as frozen as the landscape, numb from the pain of a broken relationship.

Today, the spring thaw is mine as well. No longer locked in the icy stasis of winter, my heart has melted into openness, its soil as soft, yielding and ready for new growth as the thousands of acres that surround me here.

The summit, too, is more welcoming than it was three years ago. And as I gaze east toward my origins and west toward what I sense awaits me next, I know that I'm readier to move forward than ever before, whatever that means -- in work, in love and in life.

Sandia photos by Mark David Gerson