"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 days before by a lone hunter. 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. he was as big as mountain sky. he had violence in his heart and me in his eyes. his jaw opened wide, his body full of wanton hunger. I grimaced.  he'd be a trophy, his head standing proudly nailed to the wall, that is, if I could take him. he rose on his hind legs. I felt dread.  swallowed twice. cocked my gun. he's not taking me to the slaughterhouse. but he was fast. me clumsy. he crossed back. his big teeth like bronze sculpture. I hung like a toy. I thought 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 then dives beneath downed trees. I track her fine spray, her tidal like sighs and leaping roar. crowds congregate. lounge in her gypsy soft air. bath the inlays of their hearts as she rolls out to sea. she's a place of rest. her roomy voice, abundant eyes are a hotel for the frolicking soul and the contemplative mind. she's old, ancient. has watched many linger in her mountain mist, then go gentle and slow. she peels away pain. handles fear and weakness with imagination. behind her cries and fury are whispers of joy. her centuries old rocks shape her stride. upon leaving, I always thank her. in winter her lone body rips out a rhapsodic roar. spurious wind gusts bend her legs, twist her lines as if she's a stick of licorice candy. she hisses and howls yet her droplets touch your face like soft winter kisses. I come each week with the satisfaction of knowing she is never somewhere else.