The Hike - My first attempt at a prose poem

            The sky was black with an orange glow in the early morning light when she began her hike.  Full light was not needed as the map of the trail was imprinted in her mind.  The birds flew in switchbacks above the trail whistling with the happy glee that only birds possess.  The weight of her pack weighed heavily on her back as she labored forward.  She was alone with silence.  She was in a crowd.  The hustle and bustle of the trees along the trail, commuters on a busy roadway, screamed at her.  Her cadence drowning out the traffic.  The previous season’s blanket lifted into a rainbow along the streams that ran parallel with the trail.  As she approached the crest of the mountain, the leaky faucet of the stream caught her attention.  Her pack grew heavier with each sorrowful emotional step as she approached the stream.  She removed her pack but the weight remained.  She knelt towards the crystal blue water laced with green moss and speckled stones.  The trail had nurtured her to the top of the mountain.  Her pack, despite its weight, could not hold her from finding her true north.  With the relief of her pack being at her side, she cupped her hands, lowered them into the clear stream, and brought the freshness to her lips.  Sunrise offered renewal and hope.  With blinded eyes and breath of air, she took in the beauty.  When she opened her eyes, the sky was the bluest blue with a hint of cotton speckling the air.  Just inside her pack lied the task of what she came here to do.  She reached in and pulled the carcass of her actions; the burdens of her life, the words and descriptions of the wrongs by her hand that were written ignominiously.  Her personal inventory.  They were ashes in a paper envelope.  Every single one of them.  Like feathers yet like boulders.  Grandiloquence lost.  The commuters quieted.  Returning her focus to the crystal stream, she saw a frog that traversed through the water, leading the ill-fated way downstream.  Leap.  Leap.  Leap.  She opened the casing and let the ashes free.  She watched the wreckage of her past flow through the mountain’s artery out of her heart, and away from her soul.  She wept as magic disappeared her fear and inner strength was realized.  She was safe.  She was strong.  Most importantly, she was free.  The weightless pack returned to her back.  She wiped her face, and she smiled.  The nature trail had nurtured her to this point.  Rising from the faded ashes, the spirit of her path was no longer in the feathers on her back.  The spirit of her path now resides in her heart and, with a beautiful sunrise on the horizon, she was on top of the world.