How should we dare?

by Grahaeme Barrasford Young

A long climb over brittle rock.
A mid-point lost in weather.
 
We stop to brew, chocolate bars,
still but for out drinking hands,
companionably quiet.
 
Mist oozes round us.
 
Six feet left, cloud eddies,
twin suns appear.
Excitedly alerting you,
I bruise your ribs.
 
Briefly perplexed,
golden eyes consider, dismiss,
amused by pour presumption.
 
Feathers flex in a shiver of mist.
 
Wings spread nearly to touch,
a god slides out of reach.
Whorled droplets caress it
as we follow it out of sight.
 
It takes spirit with it,
leaves awe.
Forever distant
we are inextricably linked.