Awakening - Part 1

I awake on my bed, the covers heavy upon me like 50 feet of ocean on top. Some might feel the weight as crushing, but it feels comfortable to my frame - the way a warm bath hugs a weary body. The air outside still cold from the winter wailing. That's what this town calls it - as if the mountains are crying for spring to come. Walls in my room are brick and they welcome in the outside wind as one would welcome in an weary old friend. "Oh, come shelter yourself from the night, bitter wind. Find solace here," the walls utter. I get angry at them, for a moment, as I lie betwixt alertness and dreaming. Then I remember they are only walls, built by the hands of men.

I look at the small glowing space in the door frame that's appearance drew me out of sleep. I fumble out of bed, and my feet hit the floor. I'm not sure who turned the light on so early in the morning, or perhaps so late in the night. Though I'm a grown woman, the eeriness of an empty room - and the single lit lightbulb still causes me to exit my bedroom slowly. 

While looking around, I'm confronted with the swirl of worries that wrapped me so tightly the night before. I often find myself unwinding them as they creep around my heart, even my lungs, like a rapidly growing vine. Sleep can be a sweet escape - until day break comes. Often the prayers, uttered under the breath, while washing dishes or brushing little teeth unwind them as well. Not always. I wonder if it's because the roots are not on the outside, but from within. 

While sifting through thoughts and checking the doors, I notice the door to the back has a small note on it. 

"The mountains are calling. Come quickly."

The note is small, and the handwriting rough. I rip it off and look around. Who wrote this? How did they know those words?