The Bear

by Andrew Krivak

AND YET NO MATTER HOW LONG WINTER LASTED, spring followed, its arrival soft and somehow surprising, like the notes of birdsong upon waking, or the tap of water slipping in a droplet from a branch to the ground.

You see, you are the joy I have beyond any sadness or wish that remains for what once was.

And we’re alone? Not alone. We have each other.

That every thing has its end. And we have a part to play, right up to that end.

Why did you wait that long before you woke me? she asked. Because sleep is the only balm I know, said the bear.

Not all animals had the range of voice that could be heard, he said, but all living things spoke, and perhaps the real question was how she could understand him.

The trees are the great and true keepers of the forest, he said, and have been since the beginning.

Some animals of old have said it was the trees themselves that taught them to speak, for they never make an unnecessary sound. Each word, like a breath, carries with it some good, some purpose. For this reason, trees are the wisest and most compassionate creatures in the woods.

The wood you burn to cook your food and keep you warm? The smoke that rises was once a memory. The ashes all that is left of the story it belonged to. Why else would you be carrying the ashes of your father?

You’re hungry, I know, said the dreambear, but you need to be hungry for more than food. More than sleep. We all go to sleep and will be asleep for a long time. Be hungry for what you have yet to do while you’re awake.