inspired by John Muir

The Mountains are Calling and I Must Go—Muir

They beckon to me

Out of the fog and the smog

And the dew and the damp

They call out and I must go

Following out of the foothills

And up the slopes

Up

Up

Up

I must go

Why do they call?

Why does the mountain need a climber, a runner, a pilgrim, a poet?

I don’t know, but she does

She needs her neck scratched, the spine, the place we call horizon---there, far off and on it must be trod upon.

She calls and I must go