WE ARE NOT ON THE LEVEL
Clambering up slippery slopes,
Avoiding obstreperous rocks,
Teetering on edgy brinks
On this over-the-hill hike,
We’ve summited our local Everest,
Mounted steep fire tower steps
And gazed with a mild surprise
Over hills and lakes and skies.
Now sprawled on boulder benches
We eat our ten o’clock lunches.
A mild breeze stirs our hair
While Nancy sketches us there.
Wind-bent pines lean toward us.
A redtail circles over us.
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