Today a burning stick of wood
flickering the campfire
turns itself into incense;
It's fragrance drifts through the trees.

The mountain peaks reach up to
touch the rising sun.
True, they pointed my way to here.
And now,
For a cup of warmth to drink,
I burn sticks of deadwood in a
pool of firelight by the trail....

Just before dawn we hear waterfalls,
We are refreshed by their cool dampness.
We see green moss growing all
over the rocks on each side of
the indistinct path and we know
we are almost there.

:-) -papermoon