what will the world open for us?

windows into itself

the sun came out,

the world fresh,

the cove bright and shiny,

though surrounded by broody darknesses

hovering on the mountains,

we leave the cars

and start down the trail toward the falls,

the light dims, darkens,

as the broodiness comes at us,

we make good time on the broad trail,

though roots and rocks make me wary,

first a few drops fall through the canopy

as if yesterday’s drizzle is returning,

then a light rain,

then a heavier rain,

I put my camera gear into plastic bags

and start off down the trail again

until thunder scares me,

we’ve got to turn around,

how can I get that message

to those 5-10 minutes in front?

fortunately, they too realized Abram’s Falls must wait,

and we hoofed it back to the cars,

all sodden and chilled,

at one point so much rain falls on me

it went through and around my hat, over my bandana,

and into my eyes,

I would blink to clear them

with my blinking like a too challenged windshield wiper,

we retreated into the cars,

returning to our sheltering cabin,

earlier, just before the cove,

we saw a young bear and savored its freedom,

no other bears showed themselves to us today,

we have little control over what window into itself

the world will open, or close.

by Henry H. Walker

May 24, ‘17