SWITCHBACK

Intoxicated by the height.
Paths running from here
to everyway but up.
For we are already there
The top of the world.
A place of rugged stone
and sparse spiked grass.
Poor but for the wealth of blue,
In this place
where mountain dreams
and high crystal streams begin.
Where drafts blow down
from snow scented air
throughout the year.
(Dave Kavanagh)