Getting There
poetry and photography by Loren Haury

From this place where you are now,
there are two ways of getting there,
both equally distant. But you must
choose your ridge or draw with care--
you will be in one, or on the other,
for the rest of the journey.

Balancing from rock to rock over
small worlds in a ravine’s deep shade
may be the easiest way.

This is not to say it is easy
to go from here to there,
from where you are now
through the depths,
to the source.

This way strains the body,
your stumbles could twist
or break
a limb.
Yet injury would be a respite,
welcome perhaps, and
the risk is reasonable.

This way is surest, but with no view,
no end in sight to show you
how far you may have come.

It takes faith (but again, it may be
the easiest way) for you never
know how far it is except
for the expectation
of what
is just
around the corner.

On the other hand, to travel a ridge
with views of the lay of the land,
is a hard way. This is not to say
it will be the hardest way.

But it is not an easy,
or a painless,
way to go from here to there,
from where you are along the heights
to the source.

The exposure means your stumbles
may precipitate a fall, fatal perhaps.
And you will face the storm's full force;
when the blows end, in the respite,
your face will be scorched by the face of the sun.

This way, too, is where the wait-a-bits wait,
the shindaggers and manzanita snarls
of the mind.

A midcourse correction, of course, is possible.
But the way between is to risk steep scree,
the precipice and tangles of cat claw jungles.
It can be done, of course, but to stumble
up or down, sometimes easily,
more often than not lost,
may be the most difficult of all.

Which way then? Both lead forward
with unforeseen rewards along the way.

One way or the other, your choices will end
with the desire for the other choice.
But where ever your end,
in the end, you will be there.