Sleeping on a Mountain Top

The climb was hard,
Leg numbing, chest burning, hard.
And all the more dangerous,
For being executed in moonlight.
Although like midnight, the top would inevitably arrive,
It was a most longed for object.
The promise of rest was all that guaranteed progress.
The stops became more frequent and the rocky inclines
More treacherous and steep.
At last it was achieved,
And among the rocks, on uneven ground,
The tent was erected.
Sweat soaked body became chilled,
And gratefully accepted the warmth of the sleeping bag.
Despite the chill and the rocky bedfellows,
Sleep was as unpolluted as the fresh crystal air of the clear night.
Unmolested by any discordant cacophony of thoughts.
Perhaps being physically closer to heaven,
Sets the mind above the incessant buzz.