You climb the mountain,
slow step after conscious step,
and see before you stones, sharp underfoot,
angular in the strong sun..
Sweat beads and drips and
it’s a recognizable salty pleasure but
water,
water is good.
Sparse trees
bent
by the wind-
forbs wiggle in it,
hair every which way from it.
Steadily on, you walk,
glad for movement.
The peak looms large, but your tongue
and mind taste it.
Finally there- moments from the top-
and breathing deepens, eases, you
sigh.
Reaching the rocky lip,
not caring your laces drag behind,
you hook thumb under strap
of your heavy pack,
welcoming a stretch of rest..
When
you glimpse
what didn’t seem likely- not now,
not here,
not this,
but another peak in a range the map said
was done-
Oh unexplained territory,
unforetold valley and mountain ahead..
Silly map.
No one can ever anticipate
what lies ahead
for only you.