Tips of her hiking poles mark the ascent
to Tesuque Peak. Tiny holes pock the dirt
like inverted ant hills. She pauses,
takes a deep breath, relaxes shoulders.
She scans the expanse of aspen,
dark emerald near the base
capped with jade green and pale yellow.
A red-tinned cabin roof at the highest
elevations ablaze with buttery-orange leaves.
A little early—not quite peak.
She removes her backpack, leans it against
a jutted trunk next to the trail, presses her back
against it, abandons her hat to the scrub grass.
Cool breezes fan sweat-trickled ringlets.
She closes her eyes, imagines she’s perched
on the highest branch.
A flutter of motion beside her,
long tail with short wings, upper body
brown with white and gray streaked breast.
A northern goshawk flits through virgin
forest in pursuit of a tree squirrel.
A good sighting for a hiker in these woods.
Five years ago, she climbed this ridge.
No poles. She needs them now for balance.
Worn calluses line her palms where she grasps.
She glances right and left; the foliage ripe
with autumn’s first blush.
Another hiker passes by, waves
and asks if she’s headed to the pass.
She shakes her head and says,
“I’m already there.”
Debbie Theiss (Lee’s Summit, MO) grew up in in the Midwest and finds inspiration for her poetry in the unfolding art of daily life and nature. She has poems published in I-70 Review, Skinny Journal, Kansas Time and Place, Interpretations IV & V, Parks & Points & Poetry, Helen Literary Journal, River & South Review, Postcard Poems and Prose, Star 82 Review, Weaving the Terrain from Dos Gatos Press, and others.
Featured image by Jacob Lund
