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The Mountains
Before us lie the mountains:
stern, unrelenting giants.
Our burdens grow heavy on the steepening grade.
Treasures lose their preciousness.
Backs complain under the weight of their loads.
Suddenly, we yearn nostalgic for the plains
with their howling mosquito clouds
and muddy ruts and sudden thunder.
Hands on hips, we turn relentless eyes on our wagons,
begin to pull things off:
grandma’s bone china, our serious books,
cast-iron opinions, cherished identities,
and illusions of security.
These are steep times.
The inessential must be left behind
so we can climb into the terrible beauty before us.
Beyond the fearsome heights lies a new land,
an unknown place where our dearest hopes reside.
My friends, my fellow travelers,
there is no turning back now.
And no more going it alone.
Piles by the side of the rutted road.
Old assumptions dissolving in the wind and rain.
Our lightened wagons jostling upward.
We follow behind, our aching legs
growing stronger with each step.
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