THE STUFF OF TRAILS ( December Contest)

I recall the early miles
walking in Mississippi lowland clay,
all the loved ones' laughs and smiles.
All sight of mountains far away.

Then the pathway became sand
where breakers mixed with the gulls' cry
still far away were mountains grand
reaching almost to the sky.

And the years and miles passed on
till all my trails turned rusty red
while so many folk I'd depended on
finally slept in their last bed.

Those final trails all led to here
to shadows of these Blue Ridge peaks
which with each step became near
their allure seemed to almost speak.

At last my journey carried me
beyond foothills to mountains steep.
This final stretch was meant to be.
I approach some wild ancestral keep.

This long trek has carried me
past all the old ones left behind
who formed the limbs of family
living on only in my mind.

Another switch back and soft whispers come
on a cool wind from the other side.
Fingers and feet have grown numb
while memories refuse to hide.

I know I approach the end of life
one decade? Maybe two at most.
I keep my pace up for my wife
ignoring the plea of that unseen host.