In the morning of the third day on
the great blue ridge, we saw a bear.
It was slowly crossing from the
dark side of the road to sunshine,
like memory giving way to now. I
stopped the car to take a picture.
When I started it again, the bear
observed the sound and saw whatever
cars appear to be to it, and spun
around and slowly galloped, bounded,
skipped away, whatever word
describes that certain movement of a bear,
its arms when standing now becoming
legs—then stopped and turned
as if to say so follow me already.
All this happened in a few fast seconds.
Then it crossed and watched us pass
from shelter of a roadside thicket.
Thoughts cannot describe
experience, its eyes were shining back at us,
but words can tell us pay attention
to the splendid serendipity of the way.
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