My body screams for a break
for water,
for rest.
I give in to it
and gaze,
at the wonderful view
near the peak,
at 12,300 feet

The other mountains,
thousands of feet tall,
now seem like rolling hills
crouching near the peak of Mt. Baldy
a giant lake now seems like a puddle,
with its large campsite wading in its banks.

I am not at the top yet,
I must continue
for the view will be better at the peak.
But I’m only at 12,350 feet.

The rocks.
The bulky, loose, deadly rocks
are my only way to the top.
There’s no road,
no path.

The air is thin,
my lungs are screaming.
The wind is cold,
my arms are freezing,
but the peak demands my presence.

Left, right.
Left, right.
My legs are stone as I climb.
And once, after a while,
when my body demands a break
I take a peek,
at 12,400 feet.

The peak is so near,
but I am so tired
and the rocks are so slick
it takes all I have,
but I trudge on.
Left, right,
up the mountain.
Near the peak
at 12,435 feet

I can see it,
plain as day,
filling me with a new burst of energy.
I see the peak of Mt. Baldy
Inviting me,
Promising rest.

I’m finally there.
The TOP!
the loose rocks tighten up
and forms its strong fortress
on top of Mt. Baldy.

And as I collapse
I peel off my pack,
anchoring myself to the mountain
I stand up.
I stand,
on the peak,
of 12,441 feet.