Life is just a nature trail



Which starts real slow, a human snail.



Those first few faltering tottering steps



Get stronger with successive reps.



We're stumbling towards the wooden stile



Which marks the end of our first mile.



We clamber over, catch our breath,



Impervious to future death.



The path ascends, becoming steep,



This is the first time we dig deep.



We reach a shaky, wooden bridge



Which must be crossed to reach the ridge



Extending west to touch the lake



The edge of which we have to make.



We pause, and drinking in the view,



Feel that we've been born anew.



Childhood has been left behind,



But now we face the adult grind.



So turn and gaze towards the peak.



Is that the prize we truly seek?



We battle on through dense white heather



Trying not to mind the weather.



The gathering clouds are split asunder



By lightning, rain and rumbling thunder.



This is a metaphor for life,



Fear, discomfort, angst and strife.



But now we stand above the trees



The howling wind becomes a breeze.



The middle section muddled through



The end game poses questions, too.



Enfeeblement just ups the stakes,



Simple tasks such effort takes.



To reach the summit far above



Requires resolve and God's true love.



But now we're here and looking down



Atop Ben Cruachan's windswept crown.



Our hike is done. Our race is run.



We've earned our place beyond the sun.