Trails - Part VI

I slept a fitful sleep,

visions of the Ancients

clouding my dreams

the bone chilling cold

of my granite mattress

poking, beating as it were

the tender places of my weary frame.

The cry of the mountain cat,

the roar of the black bear

and the scream of the eagle

breeching my vain attempt at slumber.

Dew in the highlands falls heavy

and lingers in the air

long past the breaking of dawn,

in a palpable mist that leaves you thinking,

if I could but grasp it

and separate it into strands

it could be woven

into broadcloth fit for a king.

Here the day begins,

beneath the slight overhang

of a sheer granite landing

forever high above the valley floor,

and from this place

my walk into eternal discovery

as morning has broken

with the last hoot of midnight’s vanguard

and the gentle cooing of mountain doves

returns to the trail

to see what shall be seen

and know what shall be known

step by carefree step.