My favorite alpine skinny dipping hole
a dry rock bed, an inverted monument
to drought—
as if I needed one more reminder
of how fragile it is, this world,
how parched our hearts
can become.
On the long hike home
I swim in the seriousness
of what is not here,
remember how it felt to slip
into the snowmelt,
how my whole being shivered in elation,
how the earth itself was so alive.
Posts Tagged ‘hiking’
Eco-Grief
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged eco-grief, grief, hiking, mountains on July 17, 2026| 4 Comments »
Different Paths
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged allowing, father, Father's Day, hiking, poem, poetry on June 20, 2026| 4 Comments »
It used to annoy me,
the way my husband
cleans every trail
he walks on, slowing
down to kick off the
smaller rocks,
stopping to pick up
and toss the larger ones.
Every. Single. Rock.
Perhaps it still annoys
the part of me that loves
a heart pumping pace,
but now I honor how
he has chosen this one
small act as one way
he can serve the world.
But if he could, on our daughter’s
paths, pick up all the obstacles,
I don’t think he would.
Such a gift for a father to give:
An open hand and heart that says
I will pick you up if you fall.
An open hand and heart that says
I trust you enough
to let you stumble at all.
Walking Across Snowfields at Tree Line in May
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged hiking, husband, mountain, partner, snow, tree line on May 16, 2026| 4 Comments »
for my husband
And we’re scooching on the surface,
and we’re skimming on the surface,
and we’re walking on the crust and
we’re up to our crotches in rotten snow,
sharp crystals scratching our legs,
our shoes drenched, our toes cold,
and we climb out to skim again on the surface
and sink. And skim. Get stuck. Crawl out.
It was, of course, a relief to find
ourselves again on a dry dirt trail,
but it was wonderful, wasn’t it, to flounder
and still find our way, I mean
today, but I mean for thirty two years,
falling in deep and choosing again
to take the next step.
As It All Comes Down
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autumn, grief, hiking, inner landscape, intimacy, marriage on September 13, 2025| Leave a Comment »
On the day his brother died,
we walked, mostly silent.
The old aspen trees were tall
and dead. In a meadow, we found
a single yellow flower where almost
all else was brown. The air carried
the wild scent of elk, dank, sweet.
And the wind made of dry grass
an epiphany of sound.
But it was the quiet landscape
inside us that was most changed.
In a voice so bare I could hardly hear,
he said, These are the days
that bring us closer together.
Multitudes
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged aging, hiking, self, time on September 7, 2025| 2 Comments »
Over twenty years ago I walked
this same trail to Hope Lake
and crossed the same creeks
and picked my way through
the same talus which is always
falling in the path. I gathered
ripe raspberries and stared
at the red peaks all around.
Who was I then? A stranger
with my same name. I don’t
blame her for not knowing
she was young. As we climb,
I hold her hand. We don’t
say anything, I don’t want
to scare her. And who is that,
waiting for us at the edge?
Some future version of me
I can’t quite make out, but
her arms are open. Her smile
says she were expecting us.
And though it’s about to rain,
we all slip out of our clothes
to slip into the deep blue lake.
Quick, I say to all my selves,
and as one, we enter in.
Long after we leave the lake,
inside me, they continue to swim.
Little Explorer
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged forest, hiking, song, woods on August 24, 2025| 4 Comments »
To walk in the woods
is a kind of prayer.
Come in on quiet feet
and feel how you are not
alone. The golden trees
are full of eyes.
What are those sounds
you cannot name?
Whatever is untamed
inside you sings along.
Dwarfed by awe,
you might feel small,
but the inner song says,
you are all.
In a Circle of Mountains
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged belonging, hiking, mountain on August 17, 2025| 8 Comments »
In a circle of mountains
it’s easier to remember
we belong to the mountains,
belong to high-pitched cheep
of pica, belong to the cliffs,
to the path, to the unpath,
belong to the blue,
blue reach of sky.
We belong as much to each other
as we belong to ourselves,
each of us a poem read by strangers
and beloveds in ways only they can read us,
each of us constantly rewriting
our lines, while in the meantime
we are constantly rewritten
by a great and unnamable
is-ness that rhymes us
each to each other.
We belong to the truth
that all belongs, even when we
are most lonely, even when
we would rather push away
from the world.
In a circle of mountains,
it is easier to practice belonging—
easier to notice this math:
your heart equals my heart,
and all this opening, opening, opening
to what we cannot know,
that equals what a life is for.
Just Before We Say Goodbye
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged hiking, letting go, mother, presence, time on July 22, 2025| Leave a Comment »
The song we’ve been singing
is gone from the air.
We walk in satisfied silence now.
And it’s beautiful,
the trail lined with sego lilies
and purple fireweed.
This morning’s raindrops
cling to leaves.
How easy it is in this moment
to believe in forever,
the wild roses
endlessly blooming,
the sound of your footsteps
keeping time in front of mine.
Conversation that Didn’t Happen Out Loud While Hiking
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged hiking, love, marriage, unspoken on July 19, 2025| Leave a Comment »
It was instantly lush,
the way nothing else
was on that hillside,
but as we stepped
into the aspen grove,
what was crisp and
sun-dried in the sun
became gloriously green.
And the scent of it!
The fecund, feral scent
of it! And I understood,
in that moment, how
both can be true
at the very same time—
how the same hillside
can be both dying
of drought and sheltered
by shade. Same as our lives
have been. And though
I did not turn to you
in that moment and say
I love you, I’d like to think
you knew it anyway,
like to think the truth
of how I love you
clings to you the way
dew drops cling
to the leaves of the lupine.
I’d like to think that even
though I didn’t turn around,
you knew what I was thinking,
and you were saying back to me,
yes, I love you, too.
Lucky
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged falling, hiking, luck on July 13, 2025| 2 Comments »
No, I didn’t just fall,
I flew. Stubbed my toe
while walking down
the knobby, steep path,
and I flew, did a somersault,
too, and my hat and glasses
fell off, and I landed, sprawling,
somewhat upside down
on the trail and what
is a human to do
but leap up and be grateful
all those big, heavy stones
are in the path and not
in my pockets, grateful
that bruises will heal,
grateful leaping up
was an option this time.
Not that one plans
to fall, but isn’t it strange
how a mistake can
sometimes make you
feel lucky, not lucky
to fall, but lucky to
be able to move
through the world
at all.