Trail End

Fever-pitch footfalls

Come to a close at the base

Of a mountain.

We stop, drop

Our packs in the dirt,

Want nothing more than shelter.

Further above,

I sank down, believing

I could not go on.

You grabbed my shoulders,

Told me we would do it,

Get down and back home, so

I willingly walked in your footsteps.

I slid-scraped over rocks

Tripped over tree roots

The forest and mountain blurring,

Tangled knots of brown and green

Painting the relentless descent.

When we hit the lonely road

We collapsed together,

The sharp, heavy woods

Continuing on into darkness.

**

Our trail-selves retreat as

Dusk makes the colors pop,

Gritty gray and black.

The stiff silence of isolation

Forces us up again

Searching for signs of life.

A minivan approaches -

We get in, carried away,

Not looking back.