The day was grey and wet,
clouds hugging the western range,
drizzle falling gently down
yet still the mountains called to me
entreating me to hike their trails.
So I gathered up my staff
and woolen cloak newly made,
starting my journey across the valley
to the preserve which beckoned my soul.
Along the way the clouds rain-ed down
each droplet tempting, "End this quest.
Muddy trails and sodden clothes
await you here. Stay dry; return another day."
But through it all, the hills I heard,
a gentle and persistent sound
that only my heart could hear,
"Your spirit knows which choice is right.
Be still and follow where it doth lead."
I shut out wind and weather, mountain and trail
watching the lodestone of my soul
cease its spinning, choosing without err
which direction and path I would take,
pointing through rain, pointing through murk
up to the trailhead where I was bound.
With my direction decided for good,
the rain let up to just a light sprinkle
seeming contented with my resolve.
I walk-ed along the trails that I knew.
Few were the ones out braving the rain.
Through field into forest, beyond sleeping farmhouse,
deeper I went under covering trees.
Staff in my hand and cloak on my back
creating a shelter from more than just rain,
A world of my own, a bubble of space
where no one intruded; leaving me ensconced
inside a place even time dared not go.
But my heart did not linger on familiar pathways.
It wanted adventure; new horizons to find.
It was my compass, lodestone and sextant,
my body the vessel traversing these planes.
Upwards it headed, climbing the canyon;
eight hundred feet of vertical rise.
Alone on this pathway hugging the cliff-side
the mist on the wind my sole company
and occasional sound of a hawk in its flight.
Stopping for breath and a swallow of water,
I look-ed behind me to see the new sights.
The view 'fore my eyes came from ages ago,
mist caressing mountain in gentle lover's touch.
And down in the valley, seven ridges before me
sat a Greek village of alabaster white.
It shone in the sunlight; a pearl in its oyster
gleaming in promise of food and of bed
while dreamings of warrior and bard came to mind.
I continued forward on in my trek
my climb not yet finished, not time to turn back.
The rain having stopped, I'd become overheated.
Slinging my cloak over my shoulder,
it hung like the draping of a Great Kilt.
Head bowed, I struggled up the steep hill,
one hundred feet farther I went without looking.
Glancing up, my body and breathing did stop.
My heart pounded loudly; no longer alone.
I could see by his stance he wasn't expecting
a soul on the trail that day in the rain.
And so at an impasse we both stiffly stood.
A space of but thirty feet was between us,
yet that was a chasm 'twixt hunter and prey.
I felt my throat drying as he stepped closer,
"Gods, this is happening," I thought as he neared
I gazed at his size, his beauty and grace.
I stepped to the edge of the path, giving room.
