Flannel chested, bearded
smelling of the trail
canteen belt tied and finger worn gloves
pack lurching from exhaustion.
Cold streams and deep drawing airs
a rock slide tumbled in another age
boots scuffed by Cartesian ascent
easier paths might have been available.
The last winded plain a ledge
traveling group foregone to shelter
bonfire blazing to chase the night
angels must be hovering in the hollow.