Tuesday, April 26, 2011


We laugh about it now, remembering the time-

hiking in the Smoky Mountains to the little falls

tucked away on a ridge behind rhododendrons,

laurels, moss covered rocks, and crooked pines.

It’s the trail where we saw the salamanders, snails,

and where a nervous black bear saw the two of us.

You needed to get back to the parking lot, to use

the restroom on a hill at the edge of the parking lot.

You insisted on running, you were warned to stop.

I called out to you, but you kept going, feeling it

worth the risk, you looked fleet of foot on the path,

a mini Davy Crockett, a modern day Daniel Boone.

It was all good until your toe stubbed one of the roots

or jagged rocks and it sent you flying for a moment

before you landed on all fours and began to cry pitifully.

Scraped palms and knees, not the last time, for sure.

“It could have been worse”, is what my father said.

And it was enough to make you listen, to slow you down.

1 comment:

WR said...

Love this poem and the photo!