Longing and Little Kisses


Fridged loneliness of  base camp.

Grieving for cool springs, green grass.

Late, the season has already changed.

Hope calls you forward toward a vision.

Legs tire, lungs burn, 

Anxiety of seeing the summit 

Across the vast expanse of cliffs and crevices,

Unbearable yearning.

Having fallen against rocks in the gulley 

And ascended to the  majesty of the peak…

Climbing is the illusion.

Brought forward on a tide that is not your own,

Confronting the darkness of pure potentiality,

A gentle hand loosens the straps to your crampons,

Stand silent and still,

To be touched by a Love that has no skin.

Yet a single star winks,

Winds carress,

Butterflies flutter their delicate kisses on your cheeks,

A voice you have always known whispers… Be.

To appreciate the ordinary things is to return the passionate kiss of the universe,

A Love whose skin is  also your own.

Photo: By my youngest son, Matt Iannucci

Turtle Pond Middlebury, CT

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