White Bird Hill

I’ve stuck to my rut far too long
glued to the familiar lane
I’ve followed what I know
played by the tried and true
handing off adventure and exploration to my companion

until the day I veered onto the exit
off the highway, we dove to the canyon floor
navigation called repeatedly
urging reason
turn around and turn back
yet we pressed on

snatching glimpses of the divided highway suspended above
we plodded along the road long ago replaced
through pastures, past the occasional yard
we began to climb and wind our way up
then up some more

the map showed a preschooler’s scribble
that was actually switchback after switchback
stacked breathlessly on top of each other
we crept around corners and climbed some more
shying away from the precipice to my right
I claimed my half of the road in the middle
feverishly hoping no one had chosen to descend
to twist their way into my lap

overflowing with apology
for the spur of the moment plunge
I pressed on
eventually beginning to breathe as I drove
and then smile
my way to the top

life really is richer
outside the rut