Summit Call

Stand upon the peak where eagles soar,
and shout your name into the alpine air,
the mountains answer back with ancient lore,
your voice returns transformed from everywhere.

Echo upon echo, multiplied by stone,
your single word becomes a symphony,
the valleys hold your sound though you're alone,
and send it back in perfect harmony.

Here at the top of this majestic height,
where snow persists through summer's warmest day,
you understand the mountains' timeless might,
and how your voice is just a passing way.

Yet still you shout, still claim this moment yours,
while the mountain echoes open ancient doors.

The Climb

One step and then another, slow ascent,
the trail winds upward through the pine and spruce,
my lungs burn with the effort that I've spent,
but still I climb, there is no good excuse.

The air grows thinner as I gain in height,
each breath more precious than the last I took,
my legs protest but still I climb in spite,
drawn upward by the summit's distant look.

Below the world shrinks small and orderly,
cars like toys upon the winding roads,
from here I see with such rare clarity
how small we are beneath our heavy loads.

The summit calls though miles remain to go,
I climb because the mountains taught me so.

Avalanche

The silence breaks with sound like thunder's roar,
the mountain's face is sliding, falling free,
tons of snow cascade and crash and pour
down slopes with devastating majesty.

We watch from distance, safe but terrified,
at nature's power unleashed and uncontrolled,
the force that could have caught us had we tried
to summit just an hour before it rolled.

When silence falls again upon the peak,
the mountain looks unchanged to casual eye,
but we who witnessed know the truth we seek—
that mountains live and breathe and sometimes die.

We turn back down with gratitude and fear,
respecting what the mountain made so clear.

Alpine Lake

Nestled in a cirque of granite walls,
a lake so blue it seems impossible,
fed by glacier melt and waterfalls,
this hidden gem seems barely plausible.

The water's cold enough to steal my breath,
yet I wade in, compelled by beauty's call,
the shock of cold feels something close to death,
then resurrection as I give my all.

I float and look up at the peaks above,
reflected perfect in the mirror lake,
and feel a deep and overwhelming love
for this wild place where earth and water make.

When I emerge my skin is bright and red,
but I feel more alive than I feel dead.

Mountain Hut

Stone walls and wooden beams, a refuge crude,
perched on a ledge two thousand feet up high,
here climbers rest and share their meager food,
and watch the sun paint colors on the sky.

We huddle round the stove's wood-burning heat,
our wet clothes steaming in the mountain air,
comparing blisters on our aching feet,
and telling tales of climbs beyond compare.

Outside the wind howls fierce and cold and wild,
but here we're safe, a family made by chance,
united by this passion undefiled
for vertical places and the mountain's dance.

Tomorrow we'll climb separate peaks alone,
tonight this simple hut is home and throne.

Storm Warning

Dark clouds gather on the western ridge,
moving faster than seems natural or right,
we're exposed here on this narrow bridge
of rock and ice with nowhere safe in sight.

The guide says we must move and move right now,
no time to rest or second-guess the way,
the storm will hit within an hour or so,
and up here that could be our final day.

So down we scramble, reckless but alive,
hearts pounding harder than from altitude,
desperate now to somehow just survive
the fury of the mountain's changing mood.

We reach the treeline as the first drops fall,
grateful to have survived the mountain's call.

Ice Climbing

I swing my axes into frozen fall,
each strike sends shards of ice into my face,
my crampons bite the vertical ice wall,
as I ascend this crystalline embrace.

The world is blue and white and sharp and clear,
my focus narrow to each move I make,
one wrong step and I will disappear
into the crevasse below, no mistake.

But fear transforms to flow, to perfect peace,
as I become one with the ice and tools,
my doubts and worries finally release,
I understand the mountain's ancient rules.

At the top I clip in and look around,
from ice I've learned what cannot be found on ground.

Shepherd's Song

In alpine meadows where the wildflowers grow,
an old shepherd tends his mountain sheep,
he knows these paths the way few people know,
each stone, each spring, each place where eagles sleep.

He sings old songs in dialect and tone,
passed down through generations on these hills,
his voice echoes off the ancient stone,
the mountains answer back with their own thrills.

He tells me he has walked these paths each year,
for seventy summers leading sheep to grass,
soon he'll be too old, the end draws near,
and no one's left to whom these songs will pass.

The mountains echo with his fading call,
a dying culture the peaks will recall.

Starlight Summit

We summit in the darkest hour of night,
our headlamps cutting through the frigid air,
and there above spreads such incredible sight—
a thousand million stars laid endless bare.

Up here above the clouds and city glow,
the Milky Way stretches horizon wide,
the universe displays its grandest show,
while we stand small on this mountain's side.

We turn our headlamps off and stand in awe,
letting the starlight be our only guide,
understanding what the ancients saw
when they looked up with wonder in their eyes wide.

At dawn we'll descend back to lower ground,
but we'll remember what up here we found.

Coming Down

They say that getting down's the hardest part,
when tired legs must bear the body's weight,
when focus fades and you let down your guard,
that's when the mountain seals a climber's fate.

My knees protest each downward jarring step,
my toes jam forward in my worn-out boots,
I slip on scree and barely intercept
the fall that could send me down different routes.

But slowly, carefully, I make my way,
back down through zones of life from barren peak,
from snow to rock to trees where creatures play,
my body broken but my spirit sleek.

When I reach the trailhead and my waiting car,
I'm planning my next climb, though bruised and scarred.