I’m in the Blue—

The line between mountain and space, where
horizon beckons with a magnetic finger and draws me
deeper into the summit of myself.

My strokes are even, steady—the brush so
light in my hand I don’t feel like I’m painting—
or holding on to anything at all—like those times on

the trailhead when it felt like I wasn’t walking—
when I was floating really, a cloud passing in the sky—
my stride so softly linking with my breath, and yet

so grounded—hiking poles scraping the ancient rock,
the worn dirt path, clicking like a metronome as I would
rise and fall and rise again.

And here I am, Lord—
staring straight into those snowy blue caps until
I am gazing straight out of them:

I am the Blue.
I am the Canvas.

Photo by Ksenia Chernaya from Pexels