Darkness Alight
by Odin Roark

He knew wonder well.
It could cancel fear
and bestow courage,
a nexus for survival.

A predawn beginning,
his solo-climb of the face.
Thought crazy by doubters,
he had started swift and easy,
the results of plans and rehearsals.

The wall’s darkness was his own,
anchoring piton after piton,
securing each meter of ascension by feel
with unharnessed confidence of mind.

Such a climb is one of need and defiance,
knowing few, if any, might, or would
ever understand his exhilaration,
his unique love of climbing-chalk and sweat,
carabineers and rope,
anchors and ascenders,
his own kind of tenuous connection to life,
all married to his inner eclipse.

Yet, at the halfway point…

Exhaustion appeared,
adrenalin waned.
His pendulum travers had missed.

Time seemed to stop.
Flesh and rock collided,
bring cold panic,
seizing breath,
suspending fate.

Although the skill of a spider
had kept him safely vertical until now,
death’s harassment invaded his plan.

His back rested against cold granite.
The lead taste of blood from his nose
conflicted with balsam and cedar fragrance
gusting up from the valley floor,
a straight down reality, fifteen hundred feet below.

Minutes passed…

Awe and respect, life’s often ignored necessitude,
hung together with him,
this rock face of sheared impossibility
some predicted would become his finale.

With tenacity as partner,
calmness merged with
a blanket of sunrise warmth,
making crisis the past,
leaving the test of tests facing him…completion.

His mind eased back to climber’s trust
with careful feeling about,
delivering secure grips,
precise movement,
renewed belief moving him deftly
toward the summit’s encouragement
of the descent team waiting…waiting…waiting.

Resisting aid,
he gripped the top,
pulling himself up and over,
dropping to the flat rock,
with rest only on his mind,
even amidst the accolades and shaking heads
of disbelief.

But…

He knew the hard part was yet to come,
the trek down the backside.

The blind climber knew,
like those with eyes to see,
exhaustion could make even a simple route
more dangerous than the climb.

With the hands of the descent team
assisting his tired body,
the crude trail carved for bushwhacking
brought danger out from hiding.

Loose scree,
roots of trees,
ruts and broken rocks.

With sightless vision,
he maneuvered the precarious path,
his certain smile becoming contagious,
moving the head-shakers to profound respect
of the blind climber’s trust in the impossible.