Running into a Grizzly Bear

THE SMELL OF PINE

the smell of pine is in every breath I take,

the rain releases it as if it is a thousand butterflies

cupped in large hands and then uncupped

to fill the corners of a garden.

walking a steep trail established by centuries of animals

searching for better food and water;

bending down as often as I need to, making sure

an unturned rock with fossilized ancient life doesn’t remain hidden.

passing other hikers, more serious hikers with bear spray

attached to their belts like Western six-shooters

who tell us that peeing around your tent at night

will keep the bears away.

the image of us dancing around our tent

doing our best to guarantee a peaceful bear-free night

threatens to interrupt the perfect beauty of a walk 

through the sweet pine trees after a morning rain,

but the picture of running into a grizzly bear,

surprising him into attacking us and taking our bloody limbs into his mouth

was enough to cause us to turn around

and follow the bear-speakers out of harm’s way.

The next day we stopped by the road side with a hundred other tourists

to observe a bear in the far distance scratching his back in a berry bush;

he seemed harmless enough

and peeing around a tent seemed even more ridiculous than the day before.