By Just L |
Date: 2015 Aug 09
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As I walked ahead finding my normal stride |
First time carrying a pack, uncertainty in my tenacity I hide
I hear (the words of my yogi), "Some days are the days to work harder than others."
I find my breath supports me
I exhale everything stale, including the air
And press on
Weight squarely on my hips
None on my shoulders
Any weight of the world I have left far behind
The only adventure ahead is a dusty trail that my sweetheart told me months ago I had romanticized too much, and would be, at this juncture, cursing him.
Instead the only thing I curse is not doing this sooner
Or finding him.
Notes from the PCT, June 25, 2015