Staring Out My Cabin Window

I am sitting in this cabin, ’twas built so long ago up here in the wild mountains, has a big bay window, a vast and sprawling forestscape greets my wandering eyes, then comes that familiar urge to get up, go outside. Go traipse that hill off to the left, I bet the view is good, scope that meadow off to the east, where deer come from the wood, to climb down in the roaring gorge, and see what I can find, the world’s an endless treasure trove, and no man has much time. One cold rove for a whole lifetime, and I do love to wend, yet for all that I find myself coming back here again. I come across this sensation, sometimes it feels quite odd, why huddle here when I could see the sublime work of God? Tall mountains carved out of marble, rivers that bend and shape, great creatures that are unchanged since before the human race, shimmering, thunder waterfalls hammer holes in the earth, volcanos full of liquid land always ready to burst, and ruins of the great men past, carved right into the stone, building up the finest structures that man has even known. I know that all that is out there, and I want to see them, but somehow I still really want to sit right here again. Perhaps I am getting older and life is getting dull, perhaps my reason says, “Why Try? You can’t see it in full.” Maybe the scale is much too much for any human mind, maybe this space shrinks it all down to something well defined, to something that my mind can grasp, that my will can control, is the vastness how God tell us, “Stay humble, know your role?” Could it all just be potential when I sit here and stare, the allure of the mystery, of what could be out there? Is it a page from Schrodinger when I look out and see, is what might be more magical than the reality? Or is it quite the opposite, do I like the surprise of how what’s real works more deeply than any thought inside? Sure, I’ll go and explore the world, like all us restless men, but for all that, I know that I’ll come right back here again.