Held by the mountain
A hike in the Sintra clouds
foot fall slick
leaning up, into the mist
cheeks cutting cool, water vapor
beads and collects
an instinctual falling inward
passing over ducts and folds
diving for space, gliding
flowing over open barriers
only finding new ways home
This poem is inspired by a misty morning hike, caught in the slick cobblestone currents of Sintra, Portugal while traveling with Boundless Life. Mourning something I couldn’t identify and feeling my cheeks wet in the clouds held by the mountain.
This is also going to be the first poem where I share a follow-up about the writing process. I’ll be sharing how I wrote it (and how much it evolved) next week. Thanks for reading!
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Edit: The follow-up to this Post is the first essay in The Messy Part, a series where I talk about breaking through the inner critic, imposter syndrome, and other lovely little self-censorship monsters.
The Messy Part #1: Held by the mountain
A new series about the messy parts of writing, and how a poem unfolds
Van Miranda
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This Post has made a journey from Substack (where it was originally published) to Ghost!