This morning, a walk up Mount Wanda,
summer brown – early this year.
Up the long path to the top –
A windmill, high and lonely,
Turns and listens
As the earth crunches beneath our feet,
and as we circle, again and again,
The azure sky draped overhead.
Here, tired from the climb, the trees our companions –
our lives have come to this! –
We stop! We breathe. —Mary Elyn Bahlert, 6/2021