4413. SPIRITUALLY

SPIRITUALLY

Here, I've arrived on Salivating Ridge  -  or was

that Salvation Rock? I dearly lost my way, oh, Deary,

oh. The fierce men were still in the hallway  -  licking

their fingers in that old roadside house. Inside, the Russian

guy was trying to sell anything he could  -  coffee and rolls,

donuts, maps and chips. 'I bring things in fresh everyday  -  

but I never buy too many. The Parks Service rents me this

concession. I try to make a go. I try.'

-

No one seemed to care; leastways I. Moving my

bottled effervescence aside meant little as he smoked

another cigarette. 'Ain't supposed to be smoking inside

here, but in these hill parts no one cares  -  except the

Parks Service people and the hiking crazies. But I

can hide it.' Funny guy, just getting be.

-

It's strange enough, how we manage, each, to suffice -

beneath a staggering sky of such beauty and the running

of fiery blue waters. Everything is moving by me.  If they

had never said 'Appalachian Trail' to my ears, I'd really

have known it anyway  -  part and parcel of a certain

goodness, truly, this was a no-man's land.