moments between mountains

I wrote this, this morning, for a friend who is in a tense, static position, waiting for his romantic life to sort itself out. I have a little experience in this arena.
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It is in the moments between the mountains
that we appreciate their height.
White, snow or cloud, stretching beneath us
tells us little of wrong or right,
the dream of love and understanding,
beyond retail remedies for the faery tale.
We need to feel the stones under our feet
and the fear of falling, our dying wail
turning out to be a false prophecy of doom
even if we have to lay in pain for a season.
For love is to life not a perfect ascension,
but the hard climbs' comprehension.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.