Mark Springer Poet Rhyme

Blue hour on Mount Hood

Dad was teaching in the Pacific Northwest
My twin and I were sixteen years old
We were isolated, self image not the best
But as far as adventure, we were bold.

So we took backpacks, my brother and I
Walked up a feeder, anticipation felt fine
Set up camp at six thousand feet high
Planned to run 40 miles on the timberline.

The day started misty, I led the way.
Then we realized the path didn't exist
We descended on scree, an hour gone away
He cursed, but we jogged in the mist.

My sneakers started hurting, blisters made me howl.
My twin was angry, I kept emitting a yelp.
I was ready to give up, throw in the towel.
But a second wind came, like an angel with help.

The day was epic, so much packed in.
I let out screeches, my brother a groan.
But scenic glory turned a scowl to a grin.
We came close to success, but mistakes took the throne.

The blue hour came, the fading hours
Rose light on the snow, like a caress
We'd gone through rivers, and forests and flowers
Ridges turned violet, light died in the West. 

Five miles left to camp, but to no avail:
The night fell like a boulder on a cave.
We had no flashlights, couldn't see the trail.
We froze all night, but my twin forgave.

The stars were bright, an awesome sight
You remember the good, not the pain
The Indian paintbrush, the changing light
and gratitude that it didn't rain.

We packed up our tent, in a subdued hush
Ran into bear cubs going downhill.
Their mom was a coward; she ran into the brush.
So we're still here, for good, or for ill.

So what do you learn when nature is stern:
And you don't emerge unscathed?
Sometimes you touch fire, but you don't burn
And the glow of adventure is saved.

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