To Climb a Mountain

I stand at the foot of a mountain.
My goal is at the top and I am at the bottom. In order to change that, I have to climb; there's no other way to reach it. I shoulder my pack upon my back and take my first step.

I begin my ascent. The ground is gently sloped, the path is firm and clear. Clouds swirl in the sky, hiding the summit from sight. I still have a long way to go. But for now, the sun shines and the birds sing. I continue on.

The terrain changes, steeper now. The sun still shines but now the wind blows, loosening my grip. I slip several times, but I catch myself. I begin to tire from falling and making up lost ground. The pack on my back grows heavier. I continue on.

The climb becomes perilous. The rock is brittle beneath my feet, breaking and falling when I step. My progress slows. I move forward and upwards on hands and knees. The path becomes less definite, less clear. I continue on.

I can't turn back now. Climbing down is much harder than climbing up. To jump would be suicide. In the early going, people on the ground would jeer and yell. I can hear them no longer; their voices do not carry this far up the mountain. 

The going is tough. I am tired and weak, my strength is leaving me; I am stretched beyond my limits. The path no longer exists. The pack on my back is tight and restricting. My breath comes in short bursts and my head throbs. My lungs scream and my legs cry for relief with every step. I press on.

The sun no longer shines. The wind rages and the clouds begin to loom overhead. The rains come; the path becomes mud. I slide with every step; the mud is everywhere. I fear that I may fall, gripping the rocks with the little strength I have left. I wish the way was flat and easy but I know that when the path is flat, I do not progress closer to my goal. I head further up the mountain.

The biggest challenge, the hardest part of the climb. Fog has set in; I cannot see what is before me and my hands are numb with cold. The climb is progressed from dangerously steep to completely vertical. The rock face stares me down, daring me to ascend to heights unknown. 

Above the clouds now. The sun is bright and the wind is cold, but the goal is in sight. No voices or jeering, no birds singing, just the sound of my labored breathing as I near the top. I shed the pack on my back, watching as it tumbles down the maintain, through the clouds and out of sight. With my destination before me, my legs are gifted with a new strength and my spirit is lifted; past troubles and failures are no more. 

I climb the mountain.