Wild side walk

The cynosure of my recent blue-sky hike
was not the luminescent blue-winged butterfly
sipping a wee bit of sweet moist flowered perfume
unlike a neoclassical revivalist on a hurried mission,
but rather in a languid dream-like state;
or the skinny black bear higher on a swaying tree trunk
peering nervously near the ruins of an old mining tank
in eastern central Pennsylvania
where no honest reclamation had taken place;
or the unlucky snake sleeping in his dried skeleton
where no official headstone could be seen.
no, it was the all-important turn;
this unhesitating winding of my trail
around a rugged mountain; a reversal of one gnarly jeep track
of rutted rocky road, just as the late afternoon sun
soured & began to drop & purposeful strides were becoming more
hesitant, less sure of themselves. 
But at the certainty of this wonderful turn,
an alto saxophone immediately wailed with a clever jazzy beat,
the fingers of a great artist snapping me awake, poking my
backside with the concept of a burger and a beer, &
the wild-eyed pink Dogwood were heard barking excitedly, &
choreographed dancers jumped high-stepping from the surrounding woods.
Their infamous stage under house lights flashing was the tall dry grass
where i earlier rested with your juicy orange which i ate,
and my 4 hour walk on undulating ground and up steep & steeper which so
preoccupied my feet...
now and unmistakeably
tilted sharply downward to a still
far-away clear creek, but down down meant my mood was up up.
An amble on the wild side with peaceful intentions and a vow of strings of silence
(no mad helicopters zooming in for a closer look and photo IDs),
i without a topo map and going by old memory with even older notions,
would have a happy ending...
alongside the valleys' swift water always clean & pure.
i could almost touch my car,
and soon i would,
and then a beer.
i would drink to the butterfly and the bear,
while refreshing in your smile.