That day at Hanging Rock

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Like nimble goats, the four of us climbed high
over peaked edges of granite and time.
No crags nor height deterred us, though I did
have a moment of unbound panic when
I happened at an edge...to glance downward.
The years of living singularly had
not prepared me for this assault of life,
this glorious messiness of children
not my own...this want for adventure's rush.
We came without a picnic lunch, a map.
Climbing, climbing, up we went to the sky
line that hovered in the distance as a
shimmering light...eye of the holy grail-
my heart pounding, shaking, trying to throw
off the rusted years...knowing through being,
that sometimes rust cushions the nettle's sting.
Yet no fear had I for scrapes and bruises
gathered on the rocks of journey's teaching-
for I had you with me, and I carried
the gentle that you gave me on the rough.
The gentle of the smile within the heart,
the gentle in the mend of broken heart.
We reached the summit in a tangle of
limbs and laughter...our cries carried over
the rock-face to take the heady dive down
to the earth to where this life had begun-
underneath the shadow of Hanging Rock
forever in a day in love with you.

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