Along the border of Canada, and Waterton Lake Parks, lays a secluded summit. 

One where the snowy caps reach the blue sky. 

Clouds blending into ice caps.

The loose snow, tumbling down onto the muddy paths below. 

Each step I take, brown sludge, creeping higher and higher up my shoe, 

Eventually reaching my white sock,

I look out to my left and waiting patiently is a cliff.

A complete dropoff.

A path not wide enough for more than one person

A single file line, for miles and miles

And to my right, a horned sheep, peacefully eating leaves off the trees. 

Black bears live in harmony with the American pika. 

A patch of slushy snow. 

White, dull, miry, grainy. 

Take one bad step and you will fall into the deep unknown

Like a game. But one you don't want to play. 

As I walk, I think about the creation of the mountains

100’s of years ago, ice, water, sleet, carving each crevice

Once I reach the top, the fear sets in

And on my way back down, I think to myself

This is going to be a long walk down.