The sun scorched the hiker as he crossed Fontana Dam.  It was late morning and, though it was only the middle of May, the heat and humidity were already unbearable.  Sweat drenched the hiker’s red bandanna wrapped around his head.  His mid-weight boots plodded on the asphalt.  Despite his discomfort, he stopped for a moment to snap off a couple of photos of the man-made lake and the surrounding mountains, the famed Smokey Mountains.  Tucking the digital camera back into the pocket on his waist-strap, he pushed on across the dam and hurried into the cool shade of the trees. The climb up to the first shelter in The Great Smokey Mountains National Park seemed interminable.  Nine long miles he climbed, stopping often to catch his breath and sip from his two-liter reservoir.  He had taken a longer break at a cascading stream to fill up his reservoir and rinse the sticky grime from his face, chest, arms, and legs.  Other hikers passed him along the way, giving him words of encouragement.  He envied their bodies, fit compared to his over-three-hundred-pound blob of wobbling flesh.  Breathing hard, struggling with each step, dripping with sweat, heart pounding with threats of...
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The chicken pho was a welcome balm for the two men who had endured the cold wind and rain to visit a new museum exhibition centered on traditional Korean houses.  Matt Bowden had remarked on the simple designs that were inspired by the low mountains of the Korean peninsula, to which Ken Cho had smiled and nodded.  Their visit over, they had driven a few miles to a Vietnamese restaurant they had found online.  “You’ll love chicken pho, Matt.  Think of it as an Asian version of chicken noodle soup,” Ken had said.  “Sounds wonderful, especially today,” Matt had replied. Two large bowls were laid down before them.  The chicken broth seemed too thin and too clear to Matt.  There were generous servings of rice noodles and strips of chicken floating in the broth, sprinkled with scallions, roasted onions, and some bok choy.  Ken saw the squinted eyes and creased forehead on his date’s round and ruddy face. “Try the broth, Matt.” The young man picked up the plastic soup spoon with his thick fingers and gingerly sipped the broth through his pursed lips.  His lips, like the profile of a bird in flight gently cupped from below, spread...
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