Fate's regret consoles the past,
While omniscient fear
Remains attached to untried trust.
Such is a climber's palpitant belief,
Inching ever closer to the gambler's down card,
That moment when anchor and reach,
Security and chance,
Agree it's time.
Just as the leaves of Quaking Aspens
Pass their shiver one to another,
Needing little wind or earth's tremble
To actuate survival's incessant vibration,
So too the climber's sentience
Relies on mind's voracious hunger,
And a rope's willingness.
Tree line to rock face,
Whiteout to summit,
Rope will tire