Thump, thump, thump went my feet, pounding on the packed dirt trail. The rythmic sound, masked by the matching pounding of my heart in my ears, and my screaming legs telling me to stop.

Crash, swish, crash went the spider filled branches as they hit my face, leaving silky threads in my hair.  My arms itch, my ankle hurts, and my puppydog is tired.

Why am I doing this again?

My 4th of July weekend began like any other: frantic house cleaning and food stuffs purchasing in prep for our annual 3rd of July party. What? Everyone is always busy on the 4th. Friends and strangers alike descend on bean dip, flag cake and "adult" watermelon, leaving us with enough cheap beer to last for the rest of the year.

This year I was happily joined by my best climbing buddies Katie, Dan, George and Patrick, and our new friend Phil - who all arrived early and made me feel like this was MY party after all.

After a night of corn hole and ladder ball (if you don't know what these games are, I will gladly explain them. I'll just need one of those cheap beers first,) we said goodbye to Katie and Dan and the rest of us set off for Seneca Rocks in West Virginia. Did I mention it was 93 degrees outside? Mmm, superheated trad climbing...

I woke up to an email this morning from an inspired friend. He has a way with words, and I thought I'd share what he wrote since I know I've felt exactly this many many times before but have been at a loss to describe it. My most recent "moment" was this past weekend at Seneca Rocks, West Virginia. I haven't seen the sky that black in a long time. I saw three satellites pass overhead and watched the milky way blur on the horizon. My friend was in North Carolina when he wrote the poem below. Where were you the last time you let the sky swallow you whole?