A hike

I saw rocks today, scoured clean by the wind and walks, cut by rivers and rafts. I sped up time while clamoring; years became seconds as my body soaked in sunlight and exhaled sweat. My life- eighty, ninety heartbeats. The stone in its wisdom stayed silent and unresponsive to my efforts. But it grew in front of me, rising up only to fall; breaking, compressing while I flashed past. 

Glaciers breathe in such a way, slowly through time. They inhale water and cold; they exhale rock and oxygen. When their breath goes out the world rebounds, brushing off the weight of the ice like my skin rebounding from shoes tied too tight. Would that I could brush my fears off so readily, but they grow and erode like the rocks that jutted out in front of me. 

I just need to breathe, and in the time it takes for the glacier to draw in its next breath, I'll be a memory. All harms forgiven, all fears forgotten, and all paths traveled.