I sing my song to the grass and the aspen, running as the cougar runs, the impression of my feet in the mud a reminder that I passed by the imposing pine tree at the top of the hill. The sun rescinds its heat as it dips down, engulfed by brazen crimson before falling into the night. Darkness pervades until there remains one solitary light: mine. A spotlight on the steep trail ahead of me. I want to be still, sleep beneath the cozy blanket of dust that envelops the rocks, amassed, and the climbing continues as the doubts creep in. I walk with that weight for miles. My momentum diminishing and I ask myself: Why continue? What is the point? Shadows are cast by stars, wells from which I guzzle, begging for it to get easier. Only the tired wind responds. It is there, within, amid my shortcomings, the most prominent of peaks. A pulse, reverberating. The pain is irrelevant: I let it go. I descend while the morning ignites. I endure, and the sun begins its arc once more.