Log Slide 2002
a sand hill. not a dune but a hill. a mountain. topped
with trees. mocking. a lookout, planks of wood for
those less adventurous. we, I, was not part of that
group. follow the trail of ancient logs before us
thirty-five degree incline. I slide down sinking
sand to my knees, left my shoes at the top.
the view was… glorious getting closer
to the water, changes from emerald
to turquoise to crystal clear
I could see straight
to the bottom, my
feet, three feet
under, wiggly
on rocks. grin
the 11 am air
a cool breeze
blazing sun.
this is life.
messages
written
in the sand
I love kate
written
in rocks
long before
we arrived.
we left it
undisturbed.
I hope kate
is still loved.
then we, I,
began the climb upwards
a fight against sand sweat and
gravity. biting flies and long sleeves
devastatingly slow progress, climbing
slipping, hands and knees, no hand holds
just me and the sand. an hour later I emerge
at the top of that sand hill, making it back to flat
land, three hundred feet above lake level. an hour of
toiling. sweat and tears. toil is the only appropriate word.

I conquered that mountain.

©2007