The Endless Dance

Ethan Maurice
2 min readDec 5, 2019

I was climbing a mountain
a desert island in Phoenix.
It had just rained three days straight
and the unprecedented rain left
everything an unprecedented clear.
Everyone was rushing about below
from me all the way to the Superstitions.
Cars surging up and down the highway.
Seas of empty homes
cause everybody’s got to be somewhere else.
They’re all out chasing more
out and back
east and west
up and down
over and over
again and again.
The pattern seems clear from up here
except for how much more one needs.
Maybe a little more
maybe a lot of more
the degree remains uncertain.
But what is certain
is that nobody has enough.
In the wake of the parting storm
funky cloud patterns
make for psychedelic skies.
Tripping on them
I realize I’m cold sitting on this ridge
watching it all go by and
right about naked.
I brought the perfect November
long sleeve short sleeve
two shirt combo
but pealed it off getting too hot
climbing this here mountain ridge
and then got overtook with the spirit
of writing whatever this is.
I’m shivering now.
I can feel winter coming
and I’m not down about it yet
but I know I will be.
Enjoying the last laugh
before that lull settles into town
and me for a while.
The sun hides behind some thicker clouds
and everything’s lost it’s color.
I shift from observing the endless dance
to stepping back in.
Cause there’s airplanes buzzing above
and cars rushing below
and the top of this mountain
right there ahead of me.
And I think, “you know what,
I’m gonna eat that fig bar when I get up there
and it’s gonna taste real good.”
And right on
me and the planes and cars and
people of the valley of the sun roll.

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