To the Foot of a Hiking Trail

To the Foot of a Hiking Trail

 

We came to the foot of a hiking trail.

We climbed the short road together

And stopped at the hiking trail,

Where it began its steep incline.

And he had climbed this trail before

Yet could no longer endure the terrain.

And I was distant, pondering the hiking trail

Wanting to climb but halted by muscles untrained

Halted there, drawing over and over in mind,

Mulling over and over to find the cloudy tree line.

 

Intently fixed, my eye tried measuring the distance

By some precedent in mind

Yet, could not find any relative relation

When eye traveled clear to the summit’s misty height,

Where it began its steep and overarching decline,

And ventured over the other mountainside,

Into valleys clad not in morning light,

But in darkness and eventually to dust.

And as I, in light of his gray, pondered

Our short road and too the rocky way

Winding rather circuitously, I heard

A mountain whose ravines, canyon deeps,

Caves and cliffs, many a precipice,

And picturesque flower field scenes

Whisper an allegory to me, of life and

Of what love is meant to be

Upon the story of its traveling breeze.

 

Suddenly, he stood miles apart from me.

I heard echoes from canyon deeps

Of his beauteous whistling,

To a song of love in the wind

I wanted never to end and adored sounds of our harmony

Just knowing he would hear my heart’s calling

But refusing to see this was music imaginary.

For this mountain man would always be a legend

Faraway, beyond retracing steps,

Beyond light of morning.

 

In weeping, I turned to him speaking:

I do not know the treachery of the slope, my love,

Though I have read many a travel guide.

I do not know the gust of the storm, my love,

Though I think I’ve seen where lightening strikes.

I cannot travel alongside by you, sadly,

Though, if it could be, I would be steadfast like embodied shadow,

And wherever you would go, throw light upon our love,

And you would witness, through the years, my devotion grow.

But I cannot be the woman of your dreams and

You will have to carry on without me.

For I am still tying shoelaces, still supplying my canteen vases,

Preparing matchboxes for fire when night falls in remote places

That I too, for a time, will have to face alone because no one else

Sings harmony with me so beautifully – company, my heart must postpone.

 

Oh, how my tears seek to wash the foot of the hiking trail

And seek to thank the wiser one seated on high for the mountain’s tale

And seek his forgiveness for my folly in believing that I,

And one, beginning to travel into the other side faraway, could

Negate natural order, could nullify time’s borders

And cross the divide.

 

© 2014. Asha Gowan. All Rights Reserved.

 

Published by

Asha Gowan

I am an aspiring poet, novelist, musician, visual artist, and a die hard jazz enthusiast (partial to writing). I did not have a choice in the matter as both of my parents are creative to the core. Van Gogh beautifully painted the artist's portrait with his words: "The more I think about it, the more I realize there is nothing more artistic than to love others." I've made that ideal the primary catalyst for my work. Born as one of nature's esthetes, beauty is the goal of every song, every poem, every piece of art. Beauty that will touch the hearts and minds of others. I try to design my art to be healing and empathetic. I study and find intriguing people of all kinds, which informs a lot of my insights. I've drawn inspiration on the art of positivity, of spiritual uplifting from writers like Throeau, John Muir, Ohiyesa (Charles Eastman), the psalmist David, etc. Seeking a unique verve in my style, I make thorough investigations of all sorts of art and challenge myself to the hilt for the growth of my ingenuity. I am eager to share my musings with everyone here and wish to disseminate them. Thank you!