
You can leave your sins at the shelter
On the top of the Priest
For sections of trail you never completed
And the food you stole
For all the heavy stories you need no longer carry
Through crunching November memory and leaves

But we have no time for confessions today
Step out towards descent and down
Where the winding path becomes our prayer
Our confession and absolution
As we turn away from the sun
Cold shivering wind over the ridge
Until we turn back warm faces lit by sun’s rays

37 turns back and forth
Turning
Returning
Down the Priest
Descending into grace
And clarity that our trek must end
Before pushing on, ascending the next ridge,
The prospect of two, three more nights
Falling freezing temperatures
We are not prepared for this
For the good of the group,
Time to call it a hike, give thanks
And wonder,
Now what?

The wise hiker knows when nature has the upper hand. We rest and reflect and savor the sense of the trail, knowing we will be there again when the time is right.
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