Each Labor Day for ten years straight
my family and I would climb to the sky
from Lewis Lake following a winding
trail through patches of willows hiding
gurgling streams with clear and icy water
feeding roots of marsh marigolds and
patches of bright and shining glacier lilies.
We’d squeeze past narrow walls of rock
glistening with flecks of mica and quartzite
until we arrived at a stony plateau high
above the gleaming Snowy Range lakes
with Medicine Bow Peak rising way above.
Then we traversed back and forth on many
switchbacks below the snow and stood to
gaze at the lower Sugar Loaf across the valley.
Here and there marmots and pikas scurried
with high pitched squeaks in-between the rocks.
blocking our path lay a steep-pitched snowfield,
and out came our indispensable walking sticks
to steady us at a slant just below the peak.
Up through a rocky crevice, we at last stood on
a ridge of wobbly boulders leading ever upward
to granitic Medicine Bow Peak itself with a view
for miles in any direction that rosy finches flew.