The Mountaineer

Each and every year the mountaineer
Hikes to a lone cabin in the mountains
There are sculptures hidden in the forest there
For miles and miles around
Some made of wood, bark and dry rot
Some of stone or clay, covered in moss
Some sitting, feet in gurgling brook
Some sinking, half-devoured, into a muddy ground

Each and every year the mountaineer
Likes to be alone for some time in spring
So he can walk and he can listen
To the gleaming waves of green above
And so he can think and he can sit
And walk on paths unknown ‘til he picks
His tools and builds his future Self
Forms and chips away

And each and every year the mountaineer
Steps out of the wild and swerves and drives
Back into the throbbing hive

And each and every year the mountaineer
Seems a little bit different maybe
Softer again, baptised and cleansed

And each and every year the mountaineer
Begins his stay in a different town
With a hot meal and cooled drink to wash it down

And unlike each and every year
The mountaineer was recognized
As the door to the diner swung open
To the chime of a little bright bell
And while the mountain remembered
After all these years - he did not