Turn again to the road up the high hill
Once more to take up the weight of being
One foot hesitantly leads the other.
There is first rain hissing in the low grass
Wind blown, carrying smells of unnamed new growth
And the warm sun will come to dry your face.
Turn again to the named and unknown road
Unmapped and unpaved, still feet-beaten wide
Lifting face to the stinging, singing spray.
There are some fellow travelers too
Who bear their laden packs as well as you
And grin and groan and shove and share going.
Steal your hand into the proffered slight one
And give and get and know and hold the joy.