When You Run Out of Up
Angels Landing, Zion
When you run out of up,
you’re at the top,
nowhere to go but down.
A decision while you stop —
Back the way you came,
the known route — once rehearsed,
the same becomes different,
with vistas in reverse.
Or descend the next canyon
continuing the trail,
in search of mystery,
to find a hidden vale.
Each way has its charms.
Onward risks the great unknown.
Will I find my way?
Darkness falls, I may get left alone.
But adventure is a guide,
and my feet can reach the ground.
If I hike out and find no ride,
I’d take the long walk round.
Two paths diverge on a redrock peak,
from way up high, both ways look good.
But I can’t take them both at once.
And I can’t stay, so I must decide.