When last you walk on winter’s trail,
and reach the highest snowy pass,
to stare beyond the veil of ice
at hidden valley’s wonder
You’ll have some time to turn your head
and read a tale of slips and falls
rime brightened and inked
on frosty Gaia’s landscape.
A life thus spied, from airy height
is given form by distance,
joys and regrets, once estranged
now bound like storied pages.
No single footprint writes the verse
that tells the traveler’s legend,
each choice, each deed
a word inscribed, to infamy or glory.
I hope that when you reach that place,
you’ll smile at what was written,
turn your heel, pick up the pace
and to far mountain hasten.
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