The clouds were colophons above Longs Peak.
White and fluffy, they made clear emblems,
Signs that stood out against a background of deepest azure.
Two of them stood together,
Hanging in the still air above the mountain
The morning was fresh and bright
No harbinger of things to come.
That was at nine in the morning.
By twelve, the clouds moved in.
By one, the storm rolled off the mountain
Striking sparks of lightening upon the unwary,
Who, enjoying their climb, went above the timberline
To the boulder field to the Diamond face.
No! No! Don’t go there.
Said the hikers as they scampered down the mountainside.
There’s lightning there. It’s dangerous. You could get hit!
They ran down the hill for the cover of trees.
So my husband and I turned reluctantly,
Away from the beauties of Alpine plants, high air,
A platform view of the surrounding mountains.
We trudged downhill as the hail struck
Fierce pellets of ice hit us hard
After twenty minutes it turned to rain
The dusty track became viscous and squishy
Churning mud onto legs and trouser bottoms.
At length we arrived at the Ranger’s hut
That was the worst hike I’ve experienced
Said my husband,
–Cynthia Haggard writes short stories, novels and poetry. During the day, she is a medical writer and has recently opened her own business. For more on her creative writing, go to spunstories. For more about her medical writing services, go to clarifyingconcepts. (c) 2008. All rights reserved.