A climb is coming

An amphitheatre of 
                                        High-rise 
                                        Snow-tinged hills smeared
                                        With scraped-bare cliffs,
Hikers in shambolic clumps, or singles striding with purpose 
Slide along the valley floor,
Way back behind me a rumbling motorway tosses 
A bracing hint of reality into the air,
The wind has window-wiped away untidy clouds,

I’m leaving behind
                                     Carrying on without,
I’m walking fast, thinking slow,
In time, 
Walking slow, thinking fast,
Approaching the amphitheatre
Easing into an even stride
I cross a knee-high river running away,
A climb is coming,
At first 
                 It will seem
                                         Almost impossible.