It's not the people in the city-at least I don't think it is. It's more the cars and the never-ending potential to be hit by one. When stuck in traffic on the freeway, I feel trapped by the knowledge that thousands upon thousands of cars stand between me and open air; between me and space. I'm not one to get claustrophobic, but that about puts me over the edge.
I was thinking while driving through a high mountain pass on Highway 5 to get to Los Angeles that the sea and the mountains (in such close proximity here) each have their own distinct call. I've always heard the sea more clearly and I think I know why. The sea, like the prairie, works hand-in-hand with the sky; one just melts in to the other. So I suppose I understand why the poet in the psalm lifted eyes to the mountains as a tangible example of larger than life majesty, but my help comes from the sky. In the sky is the reflection of depth and beauty that should be the goal of humanity. In the sea and the plain exist a deliberate and steadfast march to the sky, contrasting with the mountains' tumultuous struggle to climb there and overcome it.
I long to be amongst you all again, and to take your arms as we guide our children to the sky.
Be well.
I learned to drive in a city, and now that I live in one again I still drive like I'm in Newton and the cops will pull me over for going one mph over the speed limit.
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