My Selfish Secret- Poem by Sara

I don’t write because
I want to change the world
Or make the comfortable
Feel discomfort
And those uncomfortable
Experience comfort.
I write to benefit
Nobody other than myself.
I write because 
It’s the only thing that keeps
Me safe and sane.
If I weren’t writing this
Right now,
I might be drinking
Or bleeding
Or killing my kidneys with 
Too much lithium.
My writing is
My selfish secret
I’m willing to share.


At lower elevations,
At the beginning of my journey,
I am captivated by
A cacophony of colors.
The trail winds its way
Next to a heavy-flowing stream.
This path should’ve been named
“Waterfall Way.”
As time goes on, the path gets steeper
And rougher.

Further up, towards the top of the trail, 
Tons of coniferous trees
Let the light shine bright.
Little orange needles litter the path.

I could take other trails
To higher elevations,
But up there it snowed,
And I think I should head back
Because silly Sara
Didn’t bring her snowshoes
Or any other winter gear.

I’m happy with my little hike
To Brad’s Bluff, Lila’s Ledge,
Crystal Cascades,
And Lowe’s Bald Spot;
No need for the 5,000’ mountaintops.
Not today, anyway.


I like the roads where the trees
	Make a canopy over the route.
I like the journey that makes me feel 
	Lost, but not a scary lost: a
Lost that says “let’s explore our way
	Out of here.”
I like the trails that bring me to
	Where flowers grow, but trees don’t.
I like my summits windy, and
I like my parking areas muddy.
I like my life wild out there,
	And peaceful in my head.
I like this little corner of the world
	Known as the White Mountains.
Yeah, I like it just like this.