The Trail - a poem

A poem that flowed from my hike today on this beautiful afternoon.

The Trail

As I wound my way up, down

around the mountain, metranome

of sole to stone and rhythm of creaking

leather, weather teasing with soft,

white flakes, in the midst of blue-grey

evening skies, a slideshow began.

Life flashing before my eyes, not

because I was anywhere nearer to death

but  so alive, vital with the pulsing

of memory after memory after memory,

everywhere all at once, and nowhere

but the mountain holding tight to my feet.

The crunch of day-old snow in shadow,

familiar feel against the rubber of

my boots, and suddenly the show began.

Now I am in the shadow by that lake

just outside of Durango, and now the trek

15,700 feet, rainbows of prayer flags

flapping, now on the descent and the crack

of ice breaking into the drama of avalanche,

tremors under foot, now on the rim peering

into Canada from Mt. Rainier, now soaring

in freefall 10,000 feet above ground waiting

for altimeter to signal my ripcord pull,

now in my beloved’s arms, but this a memory

still to come, this one different, a peace

palpable that I have yet to know in the embrace

of another, waiting for me just over the mountain

just at the end of another chapter, the beginning

of yet another segment of this beautiful journey.

©Heather Barron