Ahead, as marked by cairns,
our path
meanders, crawls
beneath the bluffs,
through forests and across
a frothing stream
over rocks while
step
by step
we find ourselves
renewed.

Later, guided by
the whispering breeze
our shadows tracks
the ridges and diving into
valleys deep below,
never lost, we follow
a direction
laid out long before.

We do not talk,
but listen
to our footfalls, heartbeat
and breath in harmony
with the song of birds,
we watch the wind
and taste the scent
of last night’s rain and soil.

Days ahead
a goal is waiting
unless we change our minds,
or we reach a place
with fellow walkers
willing to share stories
in a hut.

At break we gaze
at clouds
you point and say
“I see an elephant”
but I can only see a pig
chasing a princess,
which is just
the thing with clouds.

At night
we listen to a moonless sky,
our tent, the home we carried
hugs us gently
as we slowly drift to sleep.

We wake to rain
lashing, a gale
pulling the guy lines
shaking condensation
onto our beds;
so, in a hurry
we break the camp
continue onward
as we have miles to go
step by step,
before we rest again,
as we did
the day before.

Today I have the prompt about pilgrimage on dVerse where we try to think about everything else a pilgrimage except the reason to reach a sacred object in the end.

September 22, 2026