I woke up early, and, unsure what to do with my day, I decided to first write a poem based on a line that came to me in a dream a few days ago.
Will You Climb Mountains With Me When We Are Old
When we are old, when my hair is pale as a winter skyline,
and the calluses on your hands are hard as stone,
will you climb mountains with me?
Will you walk with me in perfect silence past the hills of trees,
towards the clouds.
Will you wait for me when my breath is short in my chest
and I need to stop and breathe
Will you place your hand on the hollow of my back
and keep it there until I am ready to move forward.
Will you hold my hand as the sun rises.
Will you kiss my throat, my lips,
will you smile and tell me
‘it couldn’t have been a more beautiful life.’
Then I headed out into the forest where I dropped down to my knees time and again to capture the things often left unnoticed.