Glacier Days

"Was it worth it?" at the end of the day I ask of me. Glancing back, casting random nets, I conclude nostalgia ain't what it used to be. I have climbed this far, from the gentle gradient base, child's play; from adolescent slopes, verdant and lush; from boulder passes, chasms and crevasses. I felt my own presence; now this. To driving mental pitons into sheer ice; scrabbling and clinging on for dear life, when life itself is a vertical wall, I claw, I panic should I fall. Cheekbones pressed hard against the dead of night; fingers white and rigid, eyes screwed up tight. Mothball breath over mint humbug gums, gasp, condensation puffs. Holding on and praying to something is never enough. "Was it worth it, then?" at the end of the day I don't yet know. I suppose the answer will be in whatever happens next: when I fall towards the light, when I let go...