MORNING HIKE

The crunch of my boot on snow startles a small animal.

Rustling underbrush and snapping twigs

Give evidence of its flight.

The trail is starkly white – icy and uneven.

Cold, fresh air pierces my lungs.

I’m awake!

I trudge through the drifts,

Shouldering my heavy pack.

Somewhere near, the scent of woodsmoke.

I’m annoyed

Because

I want to be the only one here.

Except for the tall, bare trees,

Silent sentinels,

Observing my passing

Judging my worth.

I bow my head in respect, 

And plod on.