We eat on blankets under
fast-blown clouds
at the edge of the Blue
Ridge Parkway
Pisgah National Forest:
Warren 4, Jonathan 3,
Roland 2
and Callan new,
all brown-eyed and
eager.
Caroline and Clara, two
blondes
on the cusp of womanhood
watch the children flirt
with the cliff's edge.
You know the game.
Weary parents, we lead
the hike
two by two
down to the river
our bodies sharing the
weight of innocence
on our backs, in our
arms:
friends for this.
As we cross the slatted
bridge over the river
that drops into falls
below,
dark clouds blow in and
hover.
Like cymbals, they clash
to flash a warning
through electric air
and drop a driving rain.
Under rhododendron, we
huddle to wait
for the rainbow and
smiles
but the woods, soon
doused
drip and ooze
and force us under the
bridge for cover.
Standing on slippery
rock, we stop
to dodge the sting of
splintering rain on our calves
and decide to turn back.
We risk the climb to dry
cars
packed with blankets and
towels for swimming
remove our sopping shoes
strip to underwear and
wrap in dry cloth.
With the heat on, we
steam the windows.
Like native Americans,
we ride downhill into sunlight
but safe in steel boxes
that roll fast on rubber
tires
out of the wild
into civilization.
© 1998 Diana Renfro
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