A young couple, new to the trail,
were both appreciative of our advisories—
what lay ahead, the footing, the elevation gain,
one inconvenient newly-fallen tree—
while an older woman behind them—mother
to one, mother-in-law
to the other?—glared icicles in our direction,
as if reaching deep
into a repository of resentments, long saved up,
against the day—the effort—us.
We shook our heads afterward:
high mileage on our hiking boots, each of us
aware that the only mishaps
we ever had on a mountain
happened on days we were mad at the world,
and wished we were somewhere else.
Russell Rowland writes from New Hampshire. Recent work appears in Wilderness House, Bookends Review, and The Windhover. His latest poetry book, Magnificat, is available from Encircle Publications. He is a trail maintainer for the Lakes Region (NH) Conservation Trust.
What a wonderful poem! The ending--so perfect.
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