Someone is there with a camera
but in her mind she is alone,
running a ridge high above the Parkway,
trying to avoid the reckless wildflowers
in her path, many which match the gold in her hair.

She imagines the sounds of the cars and
motorcycles below as a distant swarm
of bees on their way to finding gold
of their own.  Suddenly, high meadow drops
into a balsam forest and she is gone,

taking the wildflowers with her.  I put my camera
away and return to the trail-head to wait.