leather sandals

Years ago, I caught a bus to the end of the road
and walked into the Himalaya's.
In my leather sandals and naivete.

These ancient trails of stone worn smooth,
pristine peaks, impregnable,
beyond cables and monoxide
bakery's and latte's of indulgence.

Passing Yaks wear golden bells tinkling,
stone wheels slowly turning,
grinding, roasted corn.
This rock hut above a small stream
water wheeling through their generations.
One rupee bought a bagful,
poor mans meal.

High on these mountain passes
I look down upon the mailplane,
as it flies to make delivery
droning above the Dudh Khosi ,
a distant glinting ribbon of a river. 

My soul walks barefoot beside me,
leaves me my leather sandals
for the passes in the mountains.