Boulders on boulders outside caves—
I am looking for signs of life, for something
To prove someone made an effort here,
Making my own presence somehow justified.
I have seen many a mark made much of nothing
In my desire to be on a path, instead of blazing a trail.
Each triumph reveals another challenge, forever,
Which is why doubt always has a foothold in the heart.
I keep thinking I am not lost I am just never at home:
Why couldn’t this be home? It is a home, but not mine.

Shuddering at the thought of my fate to spend
Another night hunkered down in a hut of my own making,
I begin to wonder how I would behave if I were not
Desperate to leave—to be saved, to be free of this
Much freedom. Perilousness fades as paralysis melts.
Stillness becomes a choice, revealing
These moments contain eons—shadows show a subtle
Change in the waning light. These are not the first eyes to see
This place. Even solitary one is never alone.

It is then that I feel another presence at the edge
Of the clearing, and I hear a low slow grumble.
Just as suddenly I can hear its deep heaving
Lungs, its forward motion shakes the ground
And foliage. I pull tight within myself, scanning
The brush and tree line now glowing in the setting sun.
I move away—noticing each step on the ground, each smell
Flaming anew in my nostrils—toward the darkening canopy.

That is when I see it, stones don’t
Stack themselves—well, at least not like this.
I approach the cairn with caution, touching
Each stone, witnessing each act of being
Placed by someone before me, before
This moment. I see the beak pointing
To the pass to the South, and I touch the tip, staring
Into the unknown. Behind me
Lies the meadow, the river—my path.
It is then that I know what I must do:

Each stone has a hiding place, its final spot
To be. My final supreme act, its placing.

09/19/2014

Posted on 09/19/2014
Copyright © 2024 Rob Littler