Timberline

Above you,
a mountain peak
pierces the sky
in jagged angles.
No flowers grow,
just three determined trees,
above the snow
rippled by icy winds.

No track leads
where footsteps
may have crossed
that white expanse,
where cracks and crevices
plunge to chasms
dark with darkest fears.

Poised in snow
below the ridge,
locked in ice,
I look at three determined trees
that somehow grow
where trees should not,
rooted in rock alone,
seeking sun,
watering roots in snow,
and raising branches
to coldest sky.

No timberline of fear
will keep me
from this mountain
whose peak
will one day grow
my brightest blooms,
my broadest boughs.