Stretching ever up

We will never reach the peak

Of these looming pines

Through the soil and mud

Through the spoil, toil, blood and flood

Leaves uncoil from buds

If you take time to

Build the bottom of the pile

The top is easy

Am I deaf and dumb?

When did I last see the sun?

What will I become?

With a silent voice

The mountain is calling me

Telepathically

Blood drains from my flesh

Should I stop or carry on?

I can’t read the signs

Ever on we fly

Tracing the mountains northwards

To our summer home

Why do I step back?

And why do I hold my tongue?

Am I still afraid?

Always in the shade

Haunted by mistakes I’ve made

But never afraid

Try to untangle

Sharp truth from fuzzy feelings

Following the sun

Take a simple task

Joining hands and head and heart

Turn rubbish to art

Words are to feelings

As photos are to landscapes

And music to love

There’s no way to know

Which of our works will perish

And which will live on

Twas but a moment

Since I soaked up sweet nectar

Where does the time go?

Fungi and algae

Work together to eat rocks

We call them lichen

I search the surface

For the truth behind my face

It’s a fruitless chase

Wind through rugged stones

I find a way to break my bones

As my spirit groans

Sink sank slunk shrunk sunk

In the heart of the mountain

Tip of the iceberg

Rising from the lake

Wind swept branches bend and shake

Rolling storm clouds break