Saturday, May 14, 2011

Call Inlet, 1998

We crept up the hill
A breakneck snail's pace
You had grown tired
Of my constant objection
It was my way, my seat at the table
Another voice
A choice of the people
We crested and saw the valley below
We were so high
The clouds swirled around us
Like a pack of wild dogs
We sat and smoked 
And bathed in the silence
of that vast place
The ground and trees and grasses
Wet and shivering
Waiting for a change of season
Like us, they had grown weary
Of the long, cold winter
Up here, it felt lonely
We had each other
But we always did
Talking as we worked our way
Through the brush and the shrubs
Friends, foes, fingers and toes
And words to songs we never wrote
The day always ended up here
The descent marked the expiration 
Tired bodies, tired minds
I knew we would always find
The way back to the landing pad
Before darkness fell
The loam, the peat, the rock, the stories
Abandoned quarries 
Taken back by mother nature
Disappeared into the Earth again
Roads reclaimed by growth 
Rushing waters
And hope
It was a long way down from here
Marked by the trail we had left
Bereft, bankrupt but triumphant
Life lay before us like a map
We began to run down the mountain... 

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