Willing and Able
It is not the bridge that is difficult,
it is the steps leading up to the cliffs,
narrow steps of wood and stone
taking the walker through canyons and walls
where you cannot see where it is
you might be going.
There is only the smell of the sea to lead you,
to make you believe the steps are worth
the effort, the sweat on a cold day,
the old muscles screaming on a fall day;
only the promise of what you cannot see,
what you imagine, what others have told you.
On that faith, you walk. Up. Up.
A pause here and there, at times
a consideration of going back down,
allowing gravity to do the work.
After all, you know what is there
and while not spectacular,
it is safe. You consider
but you stay the course.
A few more steps, and then a few more,
all to reach the bridge
from the place you are
to a place beyond, a horizon, vistas, open seas.
And even if they do not meet your expectations
they are worth the journey, simply to know
you are willing and able.
About this poem
I have started many a journey not knowing exactly, where I was going. In the end, it was the fact that I took the leap that was more important than exactly how it turned out.
The picture was taken in Tintagle, UK.