By Ben Bailey
I’ve tried to capture just what it is and how I feel, when the path grows steep, and the wind grows chill.
It lures me on…step by step, maybe to splendor, maybe to death.
Is it the top I seek, or the bottom, or the edge? Is it deeper in the forest or out on a ledge?
I’ve been there. I’ve seen it all but as I turn to leave I still hear the call.
Faster, farther, higher it speaks. Onward, outward, upward to the peak.
It bids turn aside from the path of ease. I can no more ignore it than I could stop to breathe.
It’s not just me it calls. It’s called those before…Carson, Bridger, Red Cloud and more.
It lured Perry to the Pole, Cousteau to the sea…Lewis and Clark marched to its melody.
It’s not unpleasant but quite the other way. It’s like success, victory…a holiday.
I have no desire to escape my fate. When I hear the call I don’t even hesitate. Which makes me wonder as I ponder carefully…
Do I hear a call at all or am I listening to me.
Ben Bailey is a native of Western North Carolina, Master Carpenter, Avid Angler, and Naturalist.