Art SP Summit

The Summit!

All I hear is my own breath
in vigorous strokes upon the thin air
as I reach the summit.

Crest on a sea of rock!
I swim as I survey the Earth beneath my feet.
On the shoulders of this Mountain
his sky is finally mine.

My companions' faces appear,
smiles are passed around.
Some let fly a whoop or two,
but I just sing inside,
I made it! What a view!

Packs are taken off our backs,
boots untied.
Lay back against the rocks,
soak the sun for all its warmth
and watch the clouds swirl by . . .
below.

Thoughts drift to the climb just made,
the adventure relived--
an emerald glacial pool,
a scary traverse,
the blinding light of sun-drenched snow,
and the sound of rockfalls in the night.
How stark the beauty,
and unforgiving the rock and ice.
It will kill the unwary.

My gaze is drawn downward
to the mountain's foot far below,
to search through the sea of trees
for the trail we tread a day ago.

I was eager and filled with anticipation then.
My first mountain.
I was told we may not make it to the top,
the weather could change on a lark.
The previous group had to turn back
defeated.
But our luck was fine
and upwards we slogged
through gullies of stone and snow,
laying to rest while the sun
went round the Mountain's bottom side.

And as the sun rose, we rose too,
to race it to the top of the sky.
High noon found us together,
on the Summit!