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August 1, 2019

Getting To The Summit

she was born on the summit
way beyond the tree line
high up in the death zone
with the snow coming down
and the wind whipping a red-headed stepchild
she was high then--higher than the clouds
where the air is cold, thin, crisp, and barely there
Jack Frostbite nipping at your nose, fingers and everywhere else
she’s ridin’ high now on her frosty white horse
at the summit-the roof of the world
it’s HACE or HAPE territory boy
you better know what you’re doing
frozen milk from her peaks
her buttress as big as all get out
treacherous passes inviting the hardy explorer
no fixed rope baby, you’re on your own
many have fallen into crevices never to be seen again
they went up but they never come back 
missing, unaccounted for, presumed dead
and every now and then there’s these avalanches rumblin’ tumblin’ 
down down down takin’ rocks and trees and all down to the ground
remote but in control and out of reach
alpine start, alpine style, it don’t make no difference with her