tale of the black bear

Thump-thump, thump-thump; thump-thump, thump-thump. The morning was crisp, and the black bear was enjoying a leisurely stroll— a promenade, if you please— through his house.

His head turned from left to right as he lazily scanned his surroundings and slowly plodded along the familiar path to his special tree.

It was logging season, and the bear knew he should be more alert, but for now his mind was occupied by some of his favourite sensations:

the way the pine needles massaged his toes as he stepped on the thickest parts of the carpet they formed on the ground;

the way the cool autumn breeze gently displaced only the finest hairs at the very top his fur coat.

The bear’s eyes closed and he tilted his head upward as he deeply inhaled the fresh morning air; they popped open when suddenly, his muzzle bumped into his special tree.

He raised his front paws onto the lowest branch and began to climb.

As he ascended, he watched the pine needles on the ground below get further away until they blurred together; the branches were getting thinner, and his footing less sure.

A few months ago when he had just come out of hibernation, the bear was much lighter and could have raced to the top of his special tree without worrying about cracking a single branch. But now that he was plumping back up to hibernate again, the bear had to proceed to the top of his tree with caution.

As he climbed, the bear would use his front paws to test the next branch before shifting his weight onto it. The higher he climbed, the better he felt: he could always trust his favorite tree to carry him upwards.

At last, and with a very loud sigh, the bear reached the top of his special tree. He looked out at the view before him.

To his left, the leaves of the deciduous trees had begun turning their many shades of red and orange; deciduous turned to coniferous by the time the bear was looking straight ahead, and as he turned his head to the right, his heart sank as it always did when he laid his eyes upon the dry, barren land that replaced the lush forest that was once there.

The bear’s mind wandered to the memory of his last special tree, a majestic pine that used to stand high above the others in the middle of the now-empty patch.

The bear was lost in his daydream, and barely noticed that the world had begun to shift diagonally. “Peculiar,” he mused, as he returned to his daydream.

Suddenly, the bear thought he saw a glimpse of his magnificent tree—standing alone, in the middle of the now-barren patch of land, right where he last remembered it.

Stunned by what he saw, the bear tried to steal a second glimpse of the magnificent tree before his conscious mind could remind him that that tree, and all the other trees around it had been cut down last year.

But everything in sight had just become so… diagonal.

His right hind paw hit the ground first—the bear heard a thunderous crack as his femur snapped in two.

But before he could feel any pain, his head struck the ground and his world went black.

The lumberjack dropped his chainsaw and stared at the lifeless mass in shock.