Friday, January 9, 2015

Hiking the Whites

I’m looking at the days of hiking in the Whites. 
At first, the climb appears to be a chore; 
you fight for every step you take. 
Is that a pebble in my boot? 
I think my backpack isn’t packed precisely. 
Maybe I should stop to have a swig of Gatorade. 
Maybe I should turn around and try another day. 
But soon there comes a time when such 
a wall of thinking disappears, 
when you yourself have disappeared. 
I am the bear claw imprint on the ash tree. 
I am the deep ravine hardscrabble rock-slide. 
I am the Lapland Rosebay far above the tree line. 
All that now remains is just the closest cairn 
and that resplendent clarity of alpine fresh awareness.

No comments:

Post a Comment