July 2022 - Poetry for the Peaks
Inspiration often comes from lived experiences - from the days that drag on and those that fly by in the blink of an eye. Sometimes it strikes like a flash of lightning, bright and illuminating. Other times, inspiration is a slow dawning realization of what you have experienced.
This month, I have spent nearly every weekend in the mountains of New Hampshire. A small tradition I began some months ago is to write some poetry about the experience of hiking each mountain (usually at the summit). In doing so, I find new opportunities for self reflection and further appreciation of the beautiful wilderness that is never more than an hour or two from me.
Below are a few examples of my haiku for the heights, senryu for the summits, and a longer reflection poem on the visceral experience of being in the mountainous woodlands of the north east.
- Rikhav Kothari, 07.27.2022
07.03.2022 - Haiku for the Heights - North Pack Monadnock
A breeze blows
Where the earth meets the heavens
A calming caress
07.09.2022 - Senryu for the Summit - Mt. Jefferson
In stranger's presence
Camaraderie is garnered
Through common trails
07.12.2022 - Diary of the Dirt-born
The coarseness of the earth grates against the rough skin that cushions my path, thumbs and fingers drumming a tattoo against the tree trunks that support my barrel chest, slipping between the foliage like a bull in a china shop, a juggernaut of momentum.
Lost in the wilderness I am free to be one with myself, to feel the crisp ocean rise and fall within my chest, to feel the warmth of the sun trickle through the leaves and caress my bare forearms alongside the whispering mountain breeze.
My spine stretches to support me, twisting and crackling from time to time as I flow from rock, to root, to dirt. Bearing the weight of preparation, firm shoulders strain against straps, supporting a day's worth of food, medical supplies, clothes and equipment to keep myself and those around me safe.
Twin oculi dilate within my skull, refracting and reflecting the myriad of colors and shapes that blur in and out of being within and just out of view. Twitching with each new sound, my ears strain to absorb the plethora of bird calls and creaking timbers, the barking of dogs and the whistling of the mountain’s voice.
Perched on the balls of my feet, my toes keep me balanced and steady as I meander up and down the ridged peaks of the frigid north, the only place I have truly felt at home.