I am on the gravel road at the most eastern side of the Smoky Mountains.
Ten mph then five at the hair pin turns.
It is here, in the sharpest turning, that waters have seeped toward a V
Leading down to the gravel road.
This coming together of waters into a fragile waterfall,
Is also the meeting place of moisture seeking life,
Mosses on soaking nurse logs,
a humble stream
And creatures who in one night
create the most exquisite symmetrical webs.
In the mornings they are strings of pearls,
The home to hundreds of drops of dew.
The slow drive up this gravel road to Mt. Sterling (5600’)
Can take hours—because at each hair pin turn,
I stop and look and am as attentive as I can be.
I love this exception to the norm,
The ones who live their unique lives in the V at the hairpin turn.
Once I had stopped off the road
Right where the road made a radical, abrupt turn away
from the seeping water,
Green moss nurse logs.
The sun chanced to shine revealing hundreds of symmetrical pearls.
There were additional works of beauty further up the stream
But I would have to walk through the lowest string of pearls
And I could not do destroy the delicate elegance
This one spider had created in the night,
her brilliant contribution to
The Great Work of Creation.
This was easy to do,
because I had already made a commitment
to cause no harm to another living creature.