Once, there was a bear. Actually, he was a weasel. But he thought he was a bear, and he roamed through the woods, making himself look as large and ferocious as he could.
Several of the larger forest animals knew of his delusion, due to his habit of announcing, loudly, “Make way for the large, ferocious bear!” whenever he met someone, and these other animals would act very frightened and run off into the bushes where they would giggle among themselves.
The bear (I may as well just go ahead and call him a bear) lived on a diet of berries… which he found disgusting but ate them anyway because bears are supposed to eat them… and salmon, when he could get it, which wasn’t too often due to his (unknown to him) small size. When the salmon were running, he would wait on the river bank with the other (real) bears, and attempt to scoop the fish out of the rushing water the way they did with their huge paws. After a couple of hours of this, one of the other bears would feel sorry for him, looking as he did like a wet wool sock, and would fling a salmon in his direction. He would see the fish land nearby and say to himself, “Not bad. I’ve fetched myself quite a nice looking dinner with these powerful bear paws of mine.” Then he would drag the fish up the bank into the grass and satisfy his appetite. Of course, a good size salmon would last him a week or two, but he kept right at it because he knew what a large appetite bears have.
Now, some of the animals felt sorry for him, and shook their heads at one another, saying, “It’s a sickness of the mind, that’s what it is…” or “Too bad he’ll never be normal, like we are…” or “Someone should suggest a psychiatrist… someone beside me, I mean…”
But others saw no harm in the delusion “…so long as no one gets hurt… let him have his little game.”
And everyone let him go on believing he was a bear, because, well, there didn’t seem to be any real harm in it.
It was midsummer, and the bear was lying on his side in the warm sun, atop a large boulder near the river. The nearby berry bushes hung heavy with fruit, but the bear didn’t feel all that hungry today; he was just going to take a sunbath for a while. Small insects buzzed lazily int eh air above him, and the river seemed to be whispering, “…takeiteasy, takeiteasy,takeiteasy…” as it bubbled over the rocks. He took a deep breath and enjoyed the smells passing through his nostrils: grass, pine needles, dry earth, wet rocks, moss, ripe berries. He turned himself over to warm his other side, and as he did, a she-bear came out of the trees, headed for the river.
He held very still. Then, he sat up. Slowly.
“Who… is… that?” he heard himself ask himself.
She was beautiful.
Her glistening coat was golden brown, the color of honey. The color of the sap from a towering spruce tree. The color of waking up in the morning after a perfect sleep. The color of the taste of a freshly caught salmon, still alive and thrashing in your mouth. (You have to imagine you are a bear.)
She moved towards him with the grace of a gentle breeze through the cottonwood trees, with the grace of a feather floating aimlessly down a river.
Her eyes, the color of ripe chestnuts, seemed to twinkle with some secret, delightful knowledge, and the tiny, fairylike lashes that circles her eyes made him think of warm, soft grass between his toes.
The lips were definitely smiling.
He was instantly, hopelessly, completely in love.
He couldn’t move. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t need to move; he could remain right here in this moment forever.
Then he realized his mouth was open and he was drooling on his paws. He quickly wiped his mouth and corrected his posture. (He was sometimes lazy about his posture.) She hadn’t noticed him yet. He had to look good when she finally glanced his way. He casually brushed back a few unruly hairs on his head, and waited.
Without looking at him, she strolled past his boulder to the river and leaned over to take a drink.
Her ass was gorgeous.
Then she turned and gracefully walked back into the trees.
It took him a moment or two to realize she was gone and that he was alone. All alone, with his heart beating a mile a minute.
He looked around and saw that he was still sitting the same boulder, beside the same river, with the same small insects humming lazily above him.
But everything was different.