Not the top of the entire world
but certainly tops in mine.
On the ground yet scraping the clouds,
exaltation and vistas immeasurable,
feeling simultaneously
pebble-small and redwood-tall.
Where does one go from the pinnacle?
Other than root and stagnate,
there is nowhere but down.
The peak, as all of life's highs,
ever ephemeral, fleeting, impermanent,
only to be relished, remembered, revered,
as life inevitably fast-forwards.
For descend we must to the valleys
to explore, experience, survive,
ever yearning for new endorphin highs
and praying life conspires us
to soon rescale the heights.
copyright 2021 by Chuck Morlock
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