And so we came upon a valley,
the bottom of which we could not see,
and the air buzzed with electric fog
when we approached the precipice
of our holy mountain.
We stepped, one ginger footfall
at a time, onto the rocks,
onto the roots, making our steps silent
as we descended into the valley.
The buzz and hum of the air
rattled in the thick humidity.
Our gasping throats opened to drink
what water we could gather from the fog.
And as the valley came closer
to our hungry eyes,
the need for anything fell away
and our appetite was replaced
by an emptiness.
We stared out with blank eyes
on the green we had come to see.
The fruitful land was ready and welcoming
but we were far from home.
Our holy mountain loomed on
our descent into the valley
and our eyes dimmed in the shadows
as the mountain blocked out the sun.