View from Squaw Peak

Throngs climb this mountain
Up the blasted white stone trails
With gear so much the same
—White headbands, gray sneakers, blue spandex pants—
And faces always facing up
Without eyes to touch.

I guess joy is hard
When the goal is to endure nature,
And the view makes you larger
Than the world in which you live,
Where friendliness is next to survival
And even the smallest thing
Can be something other than itself.