Thrasher's Call

I stop along the hill again, and consult the maven, who cleans away my rubble,
and verifies my boulder’s rolling height. With his greenlight, I push on, feeling a prod. This is not my first climb, nor the first for my encumbrance.

Another ascent, as several shoulders strain, a few pairs of feet pound the path. Many hands somehow still working heavily, we share yoke and jokes, quarter by quarter, to our shared, brief rest together at hilltop release.

At an outset, I talk with a new coworker about some Sisyphean summits I’ve reached, only to see those stones’ suns set; their value is not in the fate of the boulder, but in the company of shoulders, and shared time around campfire embers,
even as our charts burn down.

We may chase together after wind, but we can hear our Architect’s breath as we call out to one another; as we push up another ball of tar and bits, our branching commits may be a vapor,
but our bonding commitment is fresh air.