I climb...

I climb…

God, my Lord, is my strength; he makes my feet swift as those of hinds and enables me to go upon the heights.—Habakkuk 3:19

I climb the mountain swiftly like a sure-footed deer.

Chaos, noise, smoke, trains, ceaseless phalanxes rising disappear faster than pebbles rattling down a ravine.

Silence joins along, footfalls in his wake.

Awakened by sudden quiet, dark spirits of the forest shamble beneath a behemoth of shadows. Spotting no visitors, they turn back to probing the soil.

Clouds raise chins, disdainful at the intruder.

The guardian of the heights briskly snaps his cloak.

The sky bends its diaphragm, filling the lungs of the vault.

Rushing forward, winds burst, monsoon springs. The sun thrusts his spear.

At the summit a doorway opens to quickening vistas all around.

Who will stay beside me to gently touch my shoulder, telling me I am not alone?

Originally published in Cecile’s Writers (July 17, 2016)