The stench of week old socks fills my nose
My eyes are watering
As if I am opening my eyes in a pool
It’s keeping me from seeing
The magnificent, green forest
Of Cranberry Hill
In northern Maine

My pack is heavy
My legs are filled with lead
I feel like Atlas holding up the sky

Frogs everywhere
They leap across the trail
The trail is flat
Now is steep and rocky

At bald spots on the mountain
The heat of the sun is so intense
I sweat like a glass of water
On a hot summer’s day

But at the peak
All those awful feelings disappear
Like a magic trick
Words could not express the beauty of the view
And nothing could replace
The satisfaction of saying
I did it.