It is here,
in the solitude of the mountains,
I can be, simply me.

It is here,
there is no past, there is no future,
just this instance—then the next.

It is here,
in these moments, all expectations fall,
and mistaken notions drift.

It is here,
‘should be’ and ‘should become’
fade with steps upon dirt and rock.

It is here,
the cold steel hand of anxiety
loosens it’s grip.

It is here,
voices of disagreement
are swallowed by the trail.

It is here,
God reveals himself
in my imperfect reflection.

It is here—I am.