AS THE WORLD CRUMBLES under environmental disasters and Wall Street catastrophes of our own making, I escape on the BMW to get away from – or make some sense of – it all.
Rounding a bend, lost in the El Dorado, a handsome cinnamon-colored black bear and her cub, dutifully having looked both ways, begin to amble across. I slow. They glance up and, seeing me, hurriedly rumble to the other side. Mama hustles baby up a fir tree and disappears into the underbrush.
I pass with a renewed sense that all is right with the world – at least in these reaches.
© 2010
Church of the Open Road Press
Upon passing, I so wanted to stop and snap a picture of the little guy up the tree, but I know the tales about coming between a mama bear and her cub. I'm sure with what Mrs. Bear had in mind and what the clean up crew of the section's turkey vultures would have accomplished, all to be found would have been a gleaming BMW GSA and a pile of my bones bleaching by the side of the road. So no picture.
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