When we set out, it was sunny.

Though low in the sky,

sunbeams peeked behind the clouds

and everything felt

pastoral.

 

Through the thicket we went,

sun at our backs,

filling our souls like sails

Over the bouncing bridge,

buoying our spirits.

 

At the bottom of the hill we stopped,

looked up, assessed.

With sun in our sails we would not fail,

so up the hill we pressed.

 

But our sails grew slack,

and upon looking back,

we could see the sun no more.

In the place of the birds

there was a low bass drum,

that spoke of the plight of the sun.

 

Between the sky and the hill,

the new grass and the old,

the past and the future,

we saw the rain and ran.

Ran back to the vans,

back to the known,

and away from the summit

not ten yards above us.