We spoke for only a short while
as we trudged the rocky trail...
with its deep treacherous canyons,
I acknowledged he was acquiescent
our leader...as he guided us on our
perilous journey...a stairway to heaven,
It was like the mouth of a monster
waiting for us to relapse, so primitive...
ready to chew us up, then spirit us away.
My thoughts turned to that night
before we left, gypsy guitars spoke
of love...to roam and be free, as we
walked in the garden...sweet fragrance
of jasmine caressed our perceived senses...
your touch like butterfly wings, tickling the
air we breathe...floating like a waltz that
captures my beating heart...we danced, my
responses fulfilled your every living dream.
Suddenly once more aware, eyes
devour me shallow and hollow...
feeling like a migrant in a foreign
country...thoughts turn to trepidation,
as we travel the route our forefathers
once scaled...discovering new lands,
to gaze upon long ago memories,
these distant...ancient mountains,
as far as the eye can see...they hold
a distaste for the untrained rambler,
that dares to trespass up and down
craggy...precipitous sheer rocks,
though to reach its peaks is to experience
the beauty, a scenic...breathtaking vision,
of immense inspiration...where the air is
pure, we close our eyes and our senses are
once more restored, this our Mountain Spirit.