The Last Hike of Summer

Our hiking boots crunch pebbles and dirt
As we wind up the mountain path.
The air is still.
The lake is glass.
A locust leaps from the drying grass
Crackling and snapping its wings.
A crow rasps its loud guffaw
From atop a dead tree.

Cool, crisp air bursts evergreen scent
As sun warms dark-green needles frosted overnight.
A chipmunk, cheeks bulging with seeds,
Scurries across our trail.
It has destination and purpose
Dashing into dry crumbling leaves.

 An Abert’s squirrel bounds and skims branches
In a tall spruce and disappears in a flash.
Black fur and curious ear tufts give away its identity.
Rattling chatter says we are intruders.

Fall wildflowers resist the frost.
We marvel at the purple-pink asters
Hugging sunny parts of the trail.
Fireweed, comfortable wherever.
Yarrow, a white frothy harbinger of autumn,
Pokes up heads all along our path.
Their white tops, a premonition of winter snow.
Grasses with seeds of spun gold,
Are soft feathers against bare legs.

 At higher vantage points
Mountain peaks capped in white,
And golden stands of aspen
 Stir our souls
Stunning us to take in a breath
And reminisce: We climbed that long ago
When we were young and our
World was simple and serene.

Today, evergreen scent and
The hushed whisper of wind
Silences our distress
And anguish for the destination
And purpose of our current world. 

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