22 August 2005



The apple trees were busy making apples. We slept in the grove on hot summer nights. Bears came scavenging for the apples. We heard them snuffling around our cots, felt their hot breaths. They sat and gorged themselves on apples. Hey bears, we said, come over here so we can pet you. The bears ignored us, as did the trees. In the winter, when the leaves were all gone, and the trees got lonely, we heard their crackling voices calling to us. The bears sat on the edge of the grove, waiting. We hoisted mugs of hot cider to them.

Very evocative. How do you do that?
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