A Winter Haiku – in memory of Midori

[a short story in ten short poems

I reread God’s Mountain, by O. Snow, and thought about Midori.]

The summit rises / a snowy, distant haven; / time will not stop me.

The snow in my path / is no longer fluffy white / but brown and slushy.

A steep icy trail / ascends before my unshod feet / and freezes my steps.

Beside the pathway / bodies sit, tired and worn, / baggage strewn around.

Lamenting, wailing / fill my silent trek, echoing / the canyon’s answers.

The apex is near; / futility closer still. / Darkness creeps forward.

Daylight breaks the sky, / bouncing shards on ice and snow, / slivering the cold.

At the top I smile / my lips curving in delight. / I have made it here.

Melting snow makes way, / A rutted, muddy road shows / dark, wet puddles and stones.

Starting, slipping, stop. / The journey calls me onward / to the next mountain.

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