Ahead, wooded foothills.
Farther ahead, green and gray
mountains. White patches
here and there upon them — snow
this late seems unlikely

but it has been 
an unlikely year. These
may be instead 
well-lit patches of
odd stone recently exposed,
perhaps by rockslides.
I know so little 
of mountains, though;

it’s pointless to speculate,
and now I find 
a longing within
for a companion
who knows more of mountains
than I do.

I find such longing
within me often this year;
this has been an unlikeable
year and to have
someone beside me
who has seen
such years before
might keep me
from drifting too early
into those mountains.
This road I’m on
will take me there
soon enough,
take me to see
if those white stains are 
slides of stone
or slides of snow,
but there’s much country
to cross before then and 

to have a guide,
a shadow partner who 
could say “calm, stay calm,
all will be revealed in time”
whenever I am transfixed by
dangerous considerations
of what’s coming

would make this journey
easier if not less
fraught with fear.