Ascent

Ascent

Alea Peister

To meet the sea
I lace up my shoes, shoulder
my heavy backpack, walk past
dried sage and quail, withered
mustard stalks. Hot pacific skies
the question of your smile
haunt my skin. Like your
ghost arms about my waist
each time I pause to look for you in
forests of late-summer mustard plants

— rising slowly —
lining the parched path
beneath my aching feet. I want
to weep when the mustard shivers
and the sea breeze touches
floods
my sweat-dampened cheeks. Quail
scurry beneath. Bareness rattles.
Sparrow silhouettes hop from stalk
to stalk. I can only see so far. 
my eyes.
Pulled forth, silently, I crest the hill.
Stop. Stunned — confronted
by diamond-bright expanses — the sea
fills — floods

(Always, you are gone.)
everything. 
Everything — air —
dirt — skin — breath — sea — crowded
with sunlight.

I rise to meet the sea.
Is light
a sacrament?       It touches the sea

as if it is —

---

Alea Peister
Poet

Alea's poetry meditates on embodied spirituality, pilgrimage, and delight. She lives in Orange County, where she goes on long walks in her old suburban neighborhood, drinks hot black coffee, and shares her writerly adventures on her Instagram, @forthesakeofsharing, and her blog, www.forthesakeofsharing.com.

Photography by Jack Harding