Sometimes you cross a hilltop looking back
And never understand how far you’ve come
Until you turn and see the winding track
That leads back to the place you had begun:
The darkness of the valley and the trees,
The strange release when rivers happened by,
The rocks along the edge, the far-off seas,
The sky that over all renews its light
With every passing morning that you climb,
Although you never thought within the night
That darkness might be over in its time.
You stand and look; a sudden rain has passed,
The air for just a moment understands;
You turn again, breathe in the sun at last
And start downhill to other foreign lands.
(Written 2001. Some prose reflections on the same thought here. Image: Pexels.)