Yesterday afternoon, a faded thin cloud, unraveled covering the blue sky in pale silver. A sharp wind picked up blowing the burnt orange leaves off the trees. This morning, the ground was wet, the pines were dressed in a rich forest green, palms of leaves held water for the insects and birds who live here on the mountain miles away far from town.
And the bear are nowhere to be found.
I haven't seen one yet. We've just heard them rustle through the night. I've heard stories of them ransacking the neighbors' garbage cans early in the morning and sometimes in full sunlight before noon. Our two garbage cans never get touched.
My sister says there is a cinnamon colored one that roams around here. He is grumpy, gigantic, and roars at the dogs if they try to squeak out a bark, which they have learned not to. They are quiet as mice when he ambles down their dirt road to scavenge through their waste cans. My sister sees him out her window. He looks like he just woke up and is heading in for brunch.
No one dares bother him.
I used to tease Scott mercilessly that I had a hidden stash of bear cookies just waiting. "Cookie cookie, come here Bear", I would tease. The father in Scott would come out, scolding me, "you can't feed wild animals, bears are dangerous."
"I know. I know. I just want to see the bear." I would smile, horribly loving to get a rise out of him.
Scott never cared to see the bear. Seeing the damage they wrecked through the fences and hearing the stories of them rampaging through the garbage and ending up on my sister's dining room table was enough for him.
I still want to see the bear.
I am waiting for him to walk by my window. I know two black bear siblings live here on this property or part of it at least.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Patiently, waiting for the bear.
I promise I won't feed him cookies, even though I am tempted.