the first climb

sunstroke and bruised feet. a mountain has many parts.

i drag myself from real estate dreaming and supress my tightened chest. i am dragging old wounds up scraggy rocks. searching for excuses not to sink into the valley. blushing with heat and wrestling with precedent. pride is for more than swallowing.

the rythmic pounding punctuates conversation. i am carving paths through stone. each corner sweeps and crimson rolls. scrambling gives way to grace. fatigue steals from fear and delivers me to higher place. in weariness i find rest.