the view above the clouds

the shadows of yesterday & the light of tomorrow (2025)
under the rain shadow (2024)
rêvasser (2022)
zugzwang (2021) (half complete)
tacenda (2020)
paroxysm (2019)
solivagant (2018)
evanescence (2017)
disenchantment (2016)

i. texas prusik

there is always a way
up.

two strands of rope, some knots
and a carabiner
can be your stairway to the sky —

if only you have the patience
to work yourself up inch by inch
along the rope.

stand straight up in your stirrups
as the ground spins below you,
then push up: let yourself go.

then, stand again. and again. and again.

there is always a way up
from rock bottom.
there is no crevasse too deep
if only you have your hope
and a rope.

ii. the weight

it tugs down from the small of my back
like an 80-pound pack,
like the pressure of entering a cave
with thousands and hundreds of thousands of pounds
of rock and earth above me.
I can feel it in my chest when I try
to inhale.
it radiates through the balls of my feet when I stand
and through the arc of my shoulders when I sit.
I feel it when you ask me “how are you?”
and I struggle to lift my eyes above the ground
to meet yours, I pause to heave open my mouth,
coax the words out
through the dense silence that fills me.
you tell me I must let something go, but
it’s not what I carry on my back, but in my heart,
that loads me down,
and that’s one weight
I don’t know how
to loose.

iii. friday

at the end of the week,
the haze of exhaustion begins to lift,
just a little, enough to see glimpses
of the life I want
cutting in an out between the gaps in the fog
black and white and grainy
like an old film,
but still familiar.

they are an echo of what it was like
to be free.

my dreams chirp at the windowsill like birds
but I don’t have time to let them in,
to feed them,
to teach them how to fly again.

but a backpack, beautiful, blue, new —
an hour to spend with Shakespeare on the screen —
clouds glowing pink in sunset while
Venus rises bright against the dusk —

my heart finds its beat again,
if only for a moment

iv. patience

between climbs and rappels,
between learning knots and scaling rocks,
there is little to do but sit in the sun.
it has been a rushrushrush
then …
…
pause.
…
a mounting frustration for all I have still to do
builds,
then disperses on
Columbia River winds.
there is nothing to do but watch
the ripples on the water, the sun on
colored carabiners, the agile bodies of
almost-friends learning the mechanics of
ascent and descent
and I try to learn the workings of
patience.

Spoiler

Aww, thanks @cocteau! I appreciate you reading. <3

v. easter morning light

the sunlight this morning
cracks open my heart like the empty tomb
and fills it with love.

vi. adulthood

There is no time for frolicking through
the cherry blossoms this year;
I watch them fall out my window as
I make bank account calls and
try to pay my taxes on time.
When did adventure become a burden?
Even trips require too much planning,
keeping track of all my money,
how to spend it having fun without
feeling hurt when next month comes.
It’s a shame to work on a 72° day,
with the sun out and the wind
rippling through the green grass,
yet that’s what I do, and keep doing.
When will the grind ever stop?
I fear the magic is lost and my dreams
are broken up and scattered like
pink petals on the wind. Dreams must be
for the rich, or the retired, and I am still
just getting my start in life, trying to do it
right. The problem is having fun
along the way. How do I stop up
the drain on my time? I sit on the floor,
papers coating the carpet like snow,
and watch my energy trickle away,
quietly.

vii. avalanche

Most people get hurt in moderate avalanche conditions.
That’s because it’s iffy; it’s possible;
it’s not-quite for real you shouldn’t go,
so you do.

Though I heard the rumblings in the distance,
I just kept trying to climb.
Fact: mountaineers should not be afraid to
speak up if conditions appear unsafe.
Turning around can be the best decision you can make.
It’s not about trying to summit at all costs.
So why do I tell myself
going forward is the only option?

So many things can trigger an avalanche:
the way old snow has fallen.
the way new snow has fallen.
the way a cornice crumbles right in front of you.

My shoulders have been covered in snow for months,
and as the spring rains come, it thaws and shifts
building precarious layer after layer,
unsettled and heavy all at once.

Now the avalanche is upon me and
there’s nowhere left to run,
no shelter to stand my ground.

I am overwhelmed
by the tons of snow, all my problems packed down
and the new ones fallen on top and
they throw me down the mountainside, head-first,
and I am buried.

Always carry a transceiver, a probe, and a shovel
when venturing into avalanche terrain.
But who is there to pick up my signals,
to track me down,
to dig me out?

I am alone.

viii. burn

fire is one of the ten essentials:
you need light and heat to
survive,
but it can be a dangerous game.
they don’t tell you how fast
a rope can zip over your bare hands
and leave them smoking;
how much extra energy it takes
to boil water from snow.
how much fuel is needed
to keep a fire going,
and going,
and
going.
I’ve been burning the candle at both ends,
and here it comes:
burn-out.

vix. pecking order

I am a gazelle among rhinos.
Although I try to array myself
in their armor, my strength has nothing
on theirs.
We’re not comparable:
a gazelle is swift and strong
in a completely different arena.
They rub shoulders and snort
while I stand stock still and try not
to get crushed.
I guess I was made for meadows,
not rocky mountainsides,
but I have a stubborn strength that
keeps me here, out of place.

Defying the pecking order.

I am a city girl among granola guys.
Although I try to buy the right gear,
my legs can’t withstand the pace
they set.
We’re not comparable:
my legs are suited to long,
slow hikes, not this speed and strength.
They talk marathons and risky climbs
while I quietly think
I don’t have that kind of drive.
I guess I was made for adventures
a little lower-stakes, closer to home,
but I have a stubborn strength that
keeps me here, out of place.

x. plans

I can’t play by the rules
unless you write them down.
I don’t know how everyone else
gets around
with only a light bit of guidance, I need
a document to analyze, a detailed map,
a packing list that’s more than just
suggestions.
I spend hours overthinking only to
find I’ve done it wrong, somehow.
Tell me what to do and how to do it
and I will
but don’t ask me to fill in the blanks
of a half-baked
plan.