The Challenge

The Challenge

The Baldfaces.
Aptly named, for so they were - bald-faced -
spare and gray, save for a splattering of trees
and one single yellow-and-black feather I found on the summit.

They reared up to the sky, a thousand feet high.
A challenge.

We took that challenge. Armed and ready,
with our heavy backpacks and tents, we strode up the bare limbs,
the barren arms and legs,
our footsteps carved forever into them.

The skies rumbled, and it was dark.
A challenge.

We took that challenge. Armed and ready,
with slipping feet, but eager minds, we strode up the wet surfaces,
the dark skin,
our arms grasping each sapling on the side of the road, lest we fall and
die.

The rain fell, and the lightning flashed.
A challenge.

We took that challenge. Armed and ready,
with tears of fear rolling down our cheeks, we strode up the treacherous steps,
the stairway to death,
our hearts and souls quaking in fear.

The rain abated, the clouds ebbed.
The challenge.

We met that challenge, standing proud on the summit.
The Baldfaces, a thousand feet high.
It was misty, and we couldn't see below - as if the mountain had stretched out
and lifted us up, into the clouds,
for yes, that was where we were - in the clouds.

A lone pine stood vigil, far above where it should be,
straggling and dying, but still doing its job.
Reminding us, that while we strode the steps to death,
above us,

there was life.