Do hard things
The face in the mirror says to me.
And into the cold I go.
Down at first
Cautious steps looking for ice
And the mossy wetness you cannot see.
On to the granite sheets
Of a Gold Country sidewalk.
Passed the shops where the women huddle
On the weekends
Looking at a shawl or
The flags you put someplace on your lawn
That say
Wine a bit
You’ll feel better.
The hill is down further,
Passed the post office
Following the creek
And the sounds of the frogs that began
One wet night in January.
I start with bold steps.
Mindful of the hammies, the glutes.
I go into low about halfway.
Just me and the darkness
Only now
Beginning to show a sailor’s delight.
Breathing harder
Hands come out, arms start to swing.
A black diamond grade
That I’d need just three turns to take
If there was snow.
Closer
And a dog barks.
Closer still
He barks again.
Head up
Nothing but the movement
And breathing.
No question about stopping but some might.
I push on
Until
At last.
I can turn and
The sun not yet itself up much
But the sky has gone from coffee black
To a seam of something red just over the hill.
God from God
Light from light
True God from True God.
Time to turn and head out
String Bean Alley and down the other side.
Tell Sisyphus, today’s job is done,
Do hard things.