Bear-Black

Bear-Black she's there, right there, in the clearing by the fire road, with two yearling cubs in tow, and we're beside them before we see them there's fear somewhere in the moment but certain beauties trump certain fears the elegant curve of shoulder muscle tendoned into forelegs with skull-mashing power the thick lobes of rounded rump gathered into the crushing thrust of haunches the sleek shimmer of bear-black fur, wild color impervious to the laws of optics in the shadow of hardwoods the small bullet-point eyes that search and locate us following the more precise vision of scent don't look right at her, you say ifyou look right at her it's seen as a challenge but I have to look, of course, into those tiny eyes set deep in undiluted black—black so black it absorbs no color but itself—black so black it burns our eyes a year earlier she would have shielded the cubs beside her with her body, would have lunged at us standing so close now, a year later, they've seen enough of us to hold their own, to stand abreast their mother and share her cautious disdain she decides not to kill us today and leads her cubs into some deeper wood where they can be black bears, just bears, away from eyes that burn and persist in awarding meaning where none is wanted —Tim Poland 66 ...