of bears and falls, and sweat

Cades Cove in Mid-August

there is a valley,

just west of the great wrinkled upthrust

of the southern Appalachians’ high ridges,

with a limestone geology surrounded by pre-Cambrian sandstone,

Cades Cove like a window, contend the geologists,

into the sky great green rounded mountains reach into the clouds,





tractors and grazers keep the fields low and grassy

so that turkeys and deer have a home,

and views are open enough from the absence of trees

that bears can often be seen,

today, for me, in a wild cherry tree by the road, 

I hike hard down the stream which empties the valley,

bedrock strata hold and channel the water as if shelves,

I fear for the fish, for if they venture forth,

a kingfisher, a heron, a fisherman can be upon them,

it’s much easier to hide in the rest of the Smokies

where geology narrows, deepens, and darkens the streams,

I find myself at a great waterfall, Abrams Falls,

close to the lowest elevation in the Park,



I come to the cove hoping to see bear,

but I knew a waterfall would not be as elusive,

my heart, my lungs, my soul loved the effort and the result,

though the humidity wrung prodigious water from me,

I take plenty of pictures of the falls,

cardinal flowers, the ridge top, the flat stream,

and I pick up a bag full of trash thoughtless hikers left on the trail,

on the way out of the cave

a bear enjoys a mid-day meal of cherries









while I watch and photograph him,

I was prepared to miss the bear

and to still savor the visit,

I appreciate the gratuitous act of kindness

that the universe shares with me through the bear.

by Henry H. Walker

August 15, ’16