"A thing of beauty is a joy forever" - John Keats

	The Bear's Lair five toes meant one thing. he was near. I followed his tracks. passed a dead buck. probably taken down by a bullet. I secured my handgun and my rifle. I must get the jump on him. I tip-toed creekside. then, suddenly, on the other bank, I heard an air-shaking growl. my whiskey mouth mumbled. his jaw opened wide, his body full of wanton hunger. I grimaced.  he'd be a trophy if I could take him. he rose on his hind legs. I swallowed twice. cocked my gun. but he was fast. me clumsy. he crossed back and grabbed me. I hung in his teeth like a toy. this is it. my last act. the headlines will read eaten by a bear. but no, the ordeal continued. he dragged me through the gurgling stream into bushes and across beds of rocks. bruised me bad. when we reached the beast's den, I feared I'd be dinner. I saw mama bear and her growing cubs. they motioned back and forth with their paws. I understood. they said I'd make a great rug.		Wahkeena Falls (Beautiful Woman in Yakima Native Language) bright, white and sassy, she hops rocks, dives beneath downed trees. I chase her faithful spray, fabulous lines, and gypsy soft air. her cool drip eases through me. she has a beat, a rhythm as she trumpets out to the sea. I walk in her wilds. am her consort. I hurry not. she can't be still. I can't either. she's drama, a shivering eye and a sweet cry. tourists come. shoot photos. lift umbrellas, get entangled in her busyness. her voice is loud. a silky love whispers with her thick mist. she can talk if you'll listen. I sing to my guitar. then to hers. upon leaving, I always thank her. in winter her lone body rips out a rhapsodic roar. she's a damnation and a beauty. spurious wind gusts bend her legs, twist her lines. she hisses, throbs and frenzies. yet her droplets touch your face like soft winter kisses. I come each week with the satisfaction of knowing she is never somewhere else.