Second Wind
I tried my nemesis trail today.
After scaling its three successive scrambles,
pulse pounding against my eardrums,
I sat down for a rest in the scrub.
A hawk circled, overseer of outcomes.
One small unassuming man
stopped to talk on his way down. He looked
like someone who had been to the End
numerous times already.
He said, “The less you dread it, the easier it is.”
“Are you happy?” I asked him. “Content.”
“There are so many mountains.” “Only one.”
I wondered when I would come to it.
A smile: “Sometime.” How would I know
when I was ready? “The mountain
itself will tell you.” He stood, saying,
“Till we meet again.” We parted. He
continued downward over the scrambles. I
ascended, in the strength of my second wind.
In retirement, Russell Rowland continues his work as a trail volunteer for the Lakes Region (NH) Conservation Trust. His poetry has appeared in over a hundred small journals. His most recent books, Wooden Nutmegs and Magnificat, are available from Encircle Publications.
Amethyst Review 