Stand Off

Bears have take up residence in our neighborhood. They’re here almost year round. Look up, and there’s a bear at the feeder or eating the Halloween candy off a neighbor’s porch. This morning, one by one, Mama Bear and three teenage cubs materialize out of the hedge—a conga line of surprise. Mama swivels her head and sniffs. Pay attention! Our dog barks once. I kneel and muzzle her snout—Be still, Beast!— and get back to the business of bearing witness to the suburbs’ primal lesson: Don’t get too close to those people over there. They won’t hurt you unless they do. So don’t let them. One young cub stands and sways, a dancing man, then slips back down into its hulking self. Mama wades into the trees at driveway’s end, sniffing back. We don’t need you. Or: See you soon. Then they’re gone. We do too much in our lives, rush to fill our days with empty tasks. The day takes its time glimmering down to size.