A Love Story
How Do I Love Thee, My Little Hiking Sticks?
Let me count the ways.
How do I love thee, my newly bought hiking sticks?
Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and elevation (or slight incline)
My soul can attempt.
When overcome with the need to get off my butt and out the door. I love thee to the level of every day’s most quiet need, to keep me vertical on the trail instead of horizontal.
Dusty and crying and horrified on the ground.
I love thee freely as I lean on your strength and solid connection when I trip, and you catch me at the last second and I avoid the multiple rocks scattered about the ground.
I love thee purely, as I know you are doing your job to keep me from fracturing my wrist or pelvis and what’s left of my pride.
I love thee with my passion put to use on the trail because that seems to be the only place I find passion these days.
I love thee with a love bestowed on inanimate objects, like stuffed animals from childhood but with more affection because those objects could not save my life.
