I encountered a bear in the forest this morning. I was hidden in the thicket at the end of a treeline, wading through the bristles, when a rustling up ahead caught my attention. I froze and waited.

Out ahead, across a field of clumping, tangling, stomach-high fox sedge, came a beautiful bear, huge in the gut and lumbering. I thought: What could a bear be doing out here, this late into the year? I had no answer. Thinking back now, I can only guess he was an old bear, successful, judging by his heft, though only for his lack of competition. Waiting late into the winter can afford a bear some freedom. An only bear is a dominant bear, you know.

He waddled along the forest’s border, paws picking up in a strange, arhythmic dance. His back left paw was injured. I could tell by the way he pulled it from the ground as he walked; he was letting out a steady series of deep, muttering grunts as he did. A proud animal, by all accounts, and one far past his years. How many seasons does he have left, I thought. Is he fat enough to rest for the winter? Some things quit before their time, but, far too often, a creature will go on far past it, forgetting time as a foe, instead carrying on as if nothing’s changed. Spread thin.

He laid down in the sedge, flattening the tufts to the ground and pawing at a few blades in front of him, telling them to listen to his demands and lay down. Once, I’m sure, they would have listened. Once, perhaps not so many years ago, he was the king of these woods, where the trees whispered his name in the wind, the deer told his stories to frighten each other before bed and the fish were better off dead. He laid there, thinking of his golden past, pawing at his grass. The sun shone through the branches and fell on his brown hair, shining as it always had. Feeling the warmth of his old friend Sun, he laid his head down upon his green pillow, and peacefully, without reservation or regret, passed back through the painting. Surely he reads my words now, and something inside me believes I’ve gotten his thoughts correct.

The roof is finished now. Will I be safe here, after the winged ones are dead? Can I rest here, knowing I’ll never be found?


Yes, Charles. Only this one step remains, then you can rest.


Good. I’d like a little sun when I do, please.


I’ll see what I can do.