Snowdon

Up with the larks.
The sun peers out promising much.

Bundled up in layers,
Eyes peep out
Through fabric.

A rapid ascent,
Boulders and rivulets
Underfoot.

The halfway house
But no time for tea.

March on
Snow deepening
Sky closing in.

Past the railway station
And the point of no return.

A white mirage
Snow blind
Struck dumb by the beauty of ice.

Careful trudge
Following footprints
Onwards
Upwards
Into the wind

Steely determination
A will to win
To defeat the mountain.
To touch the pinnacle.

A moment of joy;
Breathless
Inspired by the beauty around me.
Breathe deeper and suck it in.

The summit.

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My dad and I climbed Snowdon on Easter Sunday. It is 3,560ft, the second highest mountain in Britain. The snow was deep, seven foot drifts in part. It was so beautiful; white glare as far as the eye could see. Nothingness. Only snow, ice and wind and fading footprints.