With tired legs I began to reach it,
A peak who's view I haven't seen
For more than a little while.
I reach it's zenith and there I see
With the gaze of possibility, it's vision far extends the safety of the city and the wilderness in all it's hostility.
I'm jarred with what I see there on the side in which the sun peaks and sets. I see the plains and bountiful woodlands, roads that pull me into the great north with but a finger beckoning hither. It's a simple pull, but it pulls on strings bound to the very soul of a wayward son.
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Behind me crested on an ocean of light so quickly fading now into a winters twilight. There lies a field of tar and swamp that I have climbed through and risen from. I still bear the putrid marks and shed the dying limbs of the marshland that held and swallowed my legs with ease.
A memory though but a moment earlier in relevance now seems so distant. For I am not bound anymore, I stand upon the peak where I can see the now golden valleys and bounty laid before me like a buffet cast apon a hungry traveller. And the light follows me down into this hyperborean utopia
NH