February 26, 2013

threshold

On the downhill run, wind icing my face, knees
on lockdown, I wondered when I would call it a day.
It would be quick, no doubt—such a frigid afternoon,
and thoughts of hot chocolate and a warm fire were beckoning.
But at the bottom, I realized that, even shivering, I wasn’t finished.
I wanted that vista again, the one at the top, that threshold of the slopes.
 
It’s strange how much more we have in us at the verge of giving in,
how power comes sparking out and comfort turns to consolation prize.
Some hidden muscle stretches, finding new length, and we dare past the edge,
craning our necks, not for the view exactly, but for the sweet reward of looking.