The last few miles are the hardest
my feet are sore, the pack chaffs my back
Staying close to the rock face
the terror of the cliffs is soon past
The scent of the mountain pours down on me
the sun is warm, the shade is cold
I gaze out to the far mountains
across the valley so deep and low
The first stream rushes merrily onwards
it’s waters taste of ice and snow
I reach the lowlands and look back upwards
the mountain patiently waits for my return
Chuck Connors, November 7, 2007
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