The Mountain Top

The early spring wind gusts

Across the barren mountain top

Chilling me to the bone.

My foot slips into a crack,

Splashes into a puddle,

The blood of the mountain.

The hollow echo of the wind,

Like the screams of ghosts

In an old graveyard

I shiver,

And Try to warm myself

Try to remember why I should feel happy.
The sun slowly burns

Its way through the clouds,

Its golden arms reaching towards me.

The warmth engulfs me,

And finally,

I feel the accomplishment,

The pride that everyone should feel

After exerting themselves,

After scrambling over rocks

And jumping over streams;

I climbed the tallest mountain in Vermont.