ode to ida (pt. 1)

I’ve heard the voices say,
“Today is a good day to climb a mountain,”
So we go to the edge of the woods.
My line lingers through summer’s growth.
A trail etched upward from repetition.

From a distance I’ve heard them say,
“That’s not a mountain.”
Yet I know better.
I know it by name.
This is Mount Ida.

Summer had taken hold.
And scared the noise away.
In the thickness of the green air,
I feel welcome and protected.
This is Mount Ida.