Soft undulating hillsides beneath
Mossy forest canopies
Gnarled roots and fluorescent fungi sing
An earthy odour of natural decay
the annual Autumnal dropping of
Dead weight; a decomposing forest floor
Of Auburns, browns, greens…
Litter layer as camouflaged as I
Garbed in the Aiel’s neutral tones,
of Robert Jordan’s Three Fold Land
Boots crunch over slabs of
granite, sandstone, slate…
From a pinpoint to a boulder, obstacles
all navigated with a steadfast grit.
Digit tips numb beneath gloves, frozen
Noses exposed from balaclava’d faces
Joints and muscles creak and burn
Threatening to collapse
Severe inclines, severe descents
loose scree, and a sparsley dotted landscape
Perennial alpine grasses, growing amidst
Snow and foot-width goat tracks, carved
into the edge, into the precipice,
by a thousand feet that came before
Hair, gear and spirits dampened,
Immersed in the invasion of rolling clouds,
whilst wind whips and cuts
And on its back rides the suggestion of snow,
with frost gathered from neighbouring peaks
Eager to bestow and cover their lowly companions
In icy glory.
Candy floss clouds cast their shadow, and
Remnants of sunshine are glimpsed,
Lighting distant terrain, too far to grace
Our frozen bones
Cavernous valley depths, overshadowed
By a mountainous expanse
Rocky outcrops and lichened boulders
potentially hiding Orc, and Uruk-Hai
The wind bites, and in its wake lingers
the subtle smell of sulfur, triggering
Memories of Ruapehu’s last Extreme Expression
The cratered peak of Mount Doom, silhouetted,
looming ominously on the horizon
