and up and over a steep slope, pushed slowly, a boulder. and upon your shoulders, a twenty pound bag. it was even a much harder pull on the drag as it tugged you back. oh, and with a bountiful of branches jutting out before your path poking you and prodding you until finally bending back. their leaves falling. birds calling out for your turning. never once thought of it. straight on ‘til night. failing to function, and up and alright. knowing the end is near: the top of the mountain is soon to be here. i find it’s only a sign. a river all mirrored to the skies. and only the winds passing by.