Rise, Always Rise
Late in the morning, you look across the quarry.
The February sun is bright and cold.
Beneath your feet, ice and slate crunch with each step.
You walk, not going anywhere, just away,
just higher, in search of sun and silence
and broad vistas. There is not enough of either
and your need is great. More than a hunger,
you are called to rise, rise, always rise
to the empty skies above.
About this poem
My introverted spirit seems to be showing itself this morning.
The picture was taken in the abandoned quarry just across from my house.