Holding hands with stout trees,
excess weight applied,
breath labored and faltered,
missed steps,
dirt clinging,
we trekked upward
toward the top of the sky.

At last,
pride filled and accomplished,
we bathed in the view.
Marred artistically:
jagged gray rock and bald head,
parried with dynamic drops
and miles of pines
an hour of sunburn and toil
below.

Through the soles
of our shoes and blisters
we felt the heat
hidden by gusts of wind
off glistening Lake Superior
and knelt down,
our face in a ray of the sun,
eyes tearing up.

Our bodies concaved perfectly
as if many had been there before,
spine touching rear to rear with
Hog's Back Mountain,
each little sore
kissed tenderly by thousands of years of wear.

And with eyes scarcely peeped open,
I sensed the rotation of the Earth,
allowing deep breaths to channel from within,
a feeling of rebirth.