Higher On Mt. Shasta

The tree line fades below

as I step among clusters of aster

shooting stars and heather .

Thin wispy white clouds drift

across the crystalline blue sky

like some prehistoric bird in flight,

its wings spanned out across

the pure translucent light

Is there any reason

to go farther on

from where I am?

Roiling gray cloud masts appear

in the heavens like wise old sages

with the answer

burying the warm sun.

I climb higher into the wind

towards the snow covered peak

in the distance, calling me home.

A few hundred more feet I climb

approaching sacred ground among

the trickling snow melt and

ancient stones, a good place to

catch my breath and look down

at the world I left behind.


The air grows thinner

and colder as I go higher

crossing another snowfield

into the sun and wind

to let the old self die.