When entering the Gorge, leave behind all preconceptions. Let yourself be carried off on a stream of consciousness that tickles the heavens as readily as it grinds down stone.

Out Of The Woods

The rebel dreamed of spring and laughter,
Parthenon and golden ratio,
enterprise and seas of tea, 
an atom splintered, unveiled for all
to marvel, a flexible yet durable constitution

The rebel dreamed of clear skies

and the scent of orange cake

and the bark of friendly dogs

and the wonder of a two-story home in the shade of the tree that spans the world,
children playing on its branches, building treehouses, running up and down winding staircases, negotiating its knotted boughs, silver drops of morning dew
aglimmer in the canopy,
many houses like it in the woods,
the forest our mighty refuge, its foliage the shade that keeps the elements at bay,
its branches a safety net to catch those who slip

Temptation is a fall, the rebel knows this, the thrill empty and deceptive,
a smile that ends in mourning,
a grave opening up

In the distance echoed laughter, slung down from the distant mountain peak for all to hear in the woods and in the plains below, the beauty of life up high, and the woods echoed with the call,
and from the ridge across the ravine came the sound of voices,
and from around the bend in the pathway the sound of animals,
and in the woods many cherished and longed for what they couldn’t see,
and many feared and loathed it, eager to hunt it down

They called a meeting to debate it

The rebel was not swayed by the calls to rush out and meet the intrigue with open arms,
and was not swayed by the motion to build a tall fence around the woods

Unafraid, eager to understand, the rebel turned the corner, crossed the forest, climbed the mountain, met with what lay beyond the boundaries to form an informed opinion

The sinister and the malicious, the rebel told a group of friends drinking tea around the fire one night
long after the troubles subsided and the woods became liveable again,
the wicked and dangerous come from where you least expect them,
and they come with charm, claiming the answers to the world’s plights,
and take you hostage by tapping into your fears and conscience alike

Draining her cup, the rebel rose and bid the gathering farewell and walked away from the fire, down the path that led to the plains where, rumor had it, preachers had slithered out of the wetlands and taken over the streets

[This is a work in progress — Draft 2]