By Andrew Romriell
At the top of Mount Timpanogos, I stare off a cliff. The Earth stretching miles below: rocks, rivers, insects, grass, trees. Up above, a sunset hiding the bulk of eternity. In hours, stars will wake with the moon and construct their galaxies on the canvas of the universe. But it’s just me. Here.
So, I smile. I scream. My voice rebounds in echoes across the mountainside, my spirit dancing in the zenith of cosmos and sound and being. As oxygen and blood beat beneath my skin, I see him: the boy who had craved a different body, a different life, a different story. I see transcendence in his eyes, the slight upturn of his lips, and here on the precipice, an opportunity to simply be.