There she was

In the middle of a mountain path

Resting, for the climb had not been easy.

Sweat beaded on her upper lip

And circled armpits that had started

Fresh at dawn of day.

Drenched also her hair hung limp

To shoulders square and muscled.

This was not her first climb.

The sun is high, almost straight up

Shade is rare where trees are stunted

By roots that go not deep.  The rocks prevent

Tall oaks.  A bird cries, “Thirsty” The climber

Pauses, thinking of the spring that flowed cold

From the bowels of earth an hour back,

Foolish bird, does he not sense the wet air

Where waters flow?

A deep breath, another step perpendicular, almost,

Her pick digs in to wound the flesh of stone

And draw her upward to heights unknown to most.

The vista changes with each blow.  There is no path

Here, she ventures now where few have dared to go.

Another step, another blow, the sun descends,

The breeze begins to chill as shadows dapple rock.

Strong hands grow cold, heaviness sets in on

Weary feet, thirsty now she pardons foolish birds

Who cannot sense the water where it flows.

The sound of pick, and labored breath, of wounded

Flesh slammed into care less rock, she misses hold.

“Oh!” the sound of human cry startles the bird which

Curious remains nearby. Foolish human, the bird’s

Quick eyes take in the stain of red on mountainside.

Doesn’t she know that hers is the valley and mine the

Mountain heights?

Off he flies to take his fill of water flowing fresh and chill.

Smirking in his feathered pride he doesn’t see the pick

Descend once more and then again.  He’ll never know

The thrill a human knows when cresting one more ridge.

She stands upon the pinnacle of towering heights. Her hot

Skin cooled by Heaven’s breath, she peers into the vast

Eternal depth of valleys shadowed by day’s death

And takes her rest in the company of stars.

©linda settles