There are mountains all around where I live.  Not being originally from here, I'm trying to learn their names.  My favorites are the Bradshaw Mountains which have been renamed simply Nancy's Mountains.  Doug renamed them that in honor of my love for them, my wild spirit that connects to them.

There is all types of beauty.  In just about every place that beauty can be found there is a subjective view of it.  I think that is the magic of beauty - it is both universal and very personal.  Nancy's Mountains are both of those things.

If you drove by my mountains you would probably find some beauty in them. I though find a charismatic pull toward them. And, when in them, my insides literally buzz and hum - I come alive.   Beauty is even more beautiful when it calls to our hearts.  When it speaks to those quiet unworded spots inside that sense, feel and know with our spirits and emotions.  They speak right to that spot for me.

We moved a  few miles further away from Nancy's mountains when we bought our house here.  The mountains in close proximity to me now are Mingus Mountains.  They are beautiful, but in a different way - less green, more shades of brown.   They are a stark contrast to the 5100 feet above sea level plain I now live on.  Just picture the old west - cowboys riding across scrub brushy plains towards mountains - that's where I live.  My daughter doesn't find it nearly as beautiful as I do.

5:30 a.m. is my natural circadium rhythm to wake up.  It's magic time for me.  The sun is just coming up behind the Mingus Mountains as I run out of our subdivision toward them.  My run takes me north with the mountains on my right.  No matter how many times I witness the colors, the dark turning slowly to light, the sky big and wide, I feel grateful to see such amazing beauty daily.  It is a soul awakening sight every time. I soak it in like a sponge.

Some mountains I haven't quite figured out if they have a name or not.  There are a few distinct single mountains nearby that I haven't heard locals refer to with any specific name.  One in particular protrudes prominently above the plains.  Doug and I were out for a walk one night several weeks ago, headed toward that unnamed single mountain peak.  We decided that it looked like a breast.  It has since been dubbed by us as Nipple Mountain.  Our walks cover quite the riveting subject matters.

I texted Doug on my way home from work, "Heading out on my bike.  Riding to Nipple Mountain."   He knew exactly where I was pedaling to.  Quite sure I am that Rand McNally probably doesn't  have that particular mountain labeled as such.  I just call em like I see em!

Riding there on my white Fuji race bike is an exhillerating experience.  There are some smaller hills mixed in with long open stretches.  Speed is easy to achieve, and I do.  I feel a bit lost in the strange sort of beauty around me tonight.  Rain and lightening were gathering on Mingus Mountains to my right and rain was falling to my left behind Granite mountain. 

I shouldn't have been out.   A normal person would not have started the miles toward Nipple Mountain with lightening and rain in sight.  It became a race or sorts - can I make  it to Nipple Mountain before I get rained on or struck by lightening?  There is definitely something wild to where I live and I wanted to be in it.  

In my haste to switch to a higher gear heading down a hill, I shifted two gears up too fast.  My chain slipped and lodged off track.  As I stopped to maneuver it back on, I glanced at the menancing weather fronts to the east and west of me, how could there be beauty in those mountains with gray and rain?  Why did it feel right in my soul to be out in this rugged beauty?

I like to think I beat the rain and lightening home.  Really I think God just held it off for me.

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