I stand at the foot of the mountain.
My hand shields my gaze as I peer upwards,
The wind swirls about my naked knees as I start my ascent.
I listen to its howl and realize it is my own voice,
Desperate for a counterpoint, a harmony, anything.
The cry of my soul echoes
Through the skyscraper canyons
Only to fade into stillness
across the grayness
Of the hardened plains.
My hands cup my ears as I listen
for any sound to give me courage.
Only the road home calls to me.
I feel the comfort of it tugging me back the way I came
Pausing in my steps, I look back,
From where I stand my stare crosses a thousand miles,
Longing for that old familiar place
Just for a moment, then the spell is broken.
I turn my back on what I once knew,
and begin to climb again.