The Fierce, The Elusive

a devotional for autumn

Photo by Tristan Frank on Unsplash

twitch-ears rising round
nodding up and down
dark eyes, full of spirit 

watching

and I am unaware. 
the heavy-headed bear
is nearby, off the trail

waiting

for me to pass him by.
we share a quiet sky,
and I am lost in thought

hoping

for time enough to walk. 
and I am taking stock,
two heartbeats in the woods

passing. 

The other morning, I was up earlier than usual with the dogs. It was only just light enough to see, though a low mist hung over the woods behind our neighbor’s house, visible through our boundary of blackberry and rhododendron.

Huck had her nose down in the grass a few feet away from me, and Finn was off on his own scent-trail at the other end of the yard. I looked up, yawning, and saw movement in the mist behind our neighbor’s house.

Legs. Big, thick, furry legs.

The black bear—a big fella, around 300 pounds at a guess—did not even turn to look over its shoulder at us. We had nothing to do with its morning routine. I watched as it sauntered up the mossy hill and vanished into the bushes, marveling that something so giant could disappear so completely. It happened so fast that the dogs missed it. I, alone, stood in awe of the beast in the fog.

Living adjacent to black bears is an exercise in planning for the elusive. Aside from the photos from a neighbor’s trail cameras deeper into the woods, we almost never catch a glimpse of our region’s largest predators. But we see the evidence of them, even so: piles of berry-filled scat along their usual trails, bark scraped from trees, ant hills trampled, footprints in the mud beside the lake. When we are wise and wary—and carry bear spray just in case—we have nothing to fear from them. We coexist.

I am often amazed at the way black bears in particular (some of their ursine cousins are famously more aggressive) typify strength under control. They are powerful predators, capable of great damage, and yet most of the time they elect to stay hidden, quiet, and undisturbed.

Bears have an incredible array of defensive methods at their disposal, because their first option is almost never to get into a tangle. They tap their teeth when you’re too close to their hiding places, a hollow thunk thunk thunk sound. They grunt and huff, blowing air through their cheeks, a signal: Go away. Don’t come closer. Pass me by.

If that fails, they are masters of the bluff. They will charge at you, not intending to actually attack you, but to show that they’re not afraid to. And while tragic stories do exist of black bears injuring humans, they are relatively rare. In Washington State there have been 20 recorded non-deadly black bear attacks in the last fifty years, and only one fatality. That’s an amazing statistic when you let it sink in.

It’s a humbling thing, to see a monster with a gentle spirit. And though I have no sharp teeth or long claws, meditating upon our natural predators has a funny way of making me think of the damage I myself am capable of. Damage of a different kind, of course: I have a human mind and a human tongue which can cut and tear, ferocious, with biting insults and searing anger. I am capable of wrath and rage, of petty irritation and gossip and shame. I can hurt, I can wound. When pushed I can be dangerous, even if I never draw blood.

Every day, I am given the choice. The line between peace and predator is thin, a low fog in the woods; the Holy Spirit lingers there, tapping his teeth, a warning: Go back. Choose life. Choose quiet.

If a 300-pound black bear—all tooth, all fur—can make that choice, can choose quiet, choose peace, choose the sweetness of berry and apple and the mist of the trail in the early morning, I believe that I can, too.

There is grace in choosing our battles, in minding our berry-business, in sheathing our claws unless absolutely necessary. There is fierce power in the elusive.

---

Moved by this piece (or simply feel like supporting my coffee habit) and want to contribute a one-time donation? Click the Tip Jar button below!

For more writings like this, subscribe for free!