Near The Top of The Hill

Near The Top of The Hill

(“Because of our God’s merciful compassion, the dawn from on high will visit us.” Luke 1:78)

The trail was no longer visible,
time and rain and winds and snow
had scraped the surface down to
virgin earth again.

All anyone could see was the lone stranger
silhouetted on the hill and
no one
asked how he got there.

But he knew.
But was too far away for his voice to carry.
He knew the company he kept at the
trailhead years ago.
He knew the risks they took and the
trout they caught
in waning daylight.
He could remember it all

Alone

Near the top of the hill.

Only a few had left him,
the rest simply scattered to other adventures.
Now the only connections he had were
electrons--
and wifi--
though that was spotty on the solitary lightyears
where he dwelt.

All anyone could see was a foggy figure
on the gray days when mist
turned the mountains to mystery again.
Those were the moments that prompted
theories of myth.

He was only a man.

Some days it felt as if his heart was left behind
somewhere near the beginning of the trail.
One degree off course and decades to walk
led him to the lonely seclusion he
had not chosen.

Each day began and
each day ended.
And those who looked on

Wondered what they had missed.