The Climb

I stand at the foothills of a mountain,
large and proud,
its peak hidden beneath grey clouds,
its slopes of green and brown concealing the truth.

Behind me sang a voice—
shrill and small—
a robin.
It twirled,
its eyes dim,
its wings—blue and red—vibrant against the cloudy sky.
"Climb the hill, reach the top."

But my heart quivered, my legs shook.
"No," I cried,
arms wrapped tight around my frail body.

What if I fall?
What if I break—
splintered like twigs
beneath a thunderstorm.

The wind laughed, ruffling the leaves,
whispering as it passed:
"Are you a soldier crossing seven seas?
The knight who dares the dragon?
Or the coward, hiding under the stone?"

The robin circled around me,
its wings tangled with the trickster wind.
Slowly, firmly, it sang:
"The wind waits for none.
My warrior, lift your sword,
Climb the hill."

I looked at the mountain once more— clouds hanging,
the peak hiding,
the silence rising.
A dare.
A test.
For the brave.

The robin perched on the stone,
head tilted, waiting—
For my answer,
For my heart.

Though my breath faltered,
though my hands trembled,
though life was uncertain,
I lifted one foot,
then another,
onto the mountain of my fate.

The climb had begun.