Icarus calling

a mountain folly

Walking blind without a care, taking direction from the birds 
until a fork in the path, and the sky falls quiet. 
‘Come on fellas, which way?’ looking around it seems 
I’m exquisitely, existentially alone.   

One path up, one path flat, it’s three o’clock on the rock face, 
I flip a coin to choose my fate. 
‘put the kettle on, Icarus, I’m coming your way’ 
and the sun chuckles. Je commence. Je monte.   

The enormity of this sky with its collision of rocks 
is beyond the minds grasp, all words hold their breath. 
It’s the minutia that make sense, the very nature of it all 
in the snow white. The sky blue. The forest green.   

A cockerel crows news from the valley below, 
old news, cold news, that got lost on its way up.   

A wet rock tumbles free stopping dead at my feet 
and a freshwater vein finds freedom, at last.   

A yellow headed primrose lights the alpine floor 
like the sun, upside down, what a delight.   

A naked silver birch lay bare her battle scars, 
I kiss her, say she’s beautiful, just in case it helps.   

In a clearing the heavens open up across a vista of peaks, 
I sit a while, it’s all I can do to be still and breathe hard. 
The sun’s-shine rains down on this mighty living scene, 
of snow White. Sky blue. Forest green.   

The solitude. The quietude. The fathomless chasm. 
I hear a million pinecones falling across the mountain range. 
Crows honk. Traffic streams. A helicopter buzzes by. 
As minuscule as I am, omnipresent to it all.   

Je monte, je monte, et finalement je réussis 
with high-flying Icarus and the sun smiling down. 
A victory with no applause, it’s lonely at the top, 
existentially; inescapably; it’s all downhill from here.






all thanks to @BethKempton and the @SoulCircle community of writing wonders