Mesa Trail ch. 35
Draft 2

It was only Bunkledon't father's voice that he heard right now. Never follow such an intutition, only danger, only pitfalls, there is no such thing as spirit in the wild, for goodness sakes.  Bunkledon would carry this knowledge along with him and teach himself the solidity of things, things you can put in your hand, money that can be counted.  His first job, still his favorite, was as a beginning teller in a busy bank, all that money he could feel in his hands, now that is worth something. Yet something stirred within him, what was this, father never told him of this, a stirring that somehow knew that that bear standing up there at the top of the ridge was pacing back and forth with him, Bunkledon, in mind.

Must be the high altitude, he said to himself, thinking such silliness.  The rain had increased and, without a hat, his hair was now completely wet.  Rocks around him began to seep and drizzle, forming little unknown creeks which then fed back into the main one.  Still that buzzing sound of the rush of the creek echoing now through the small canyoun as if it were an auditorium.  Off in the distance the screech of a hawk, above it all, seeing everything, lucky thing.  He made his way toward the pacing bear, oh my, oh me.  What has this come to...blind faith, this isn't something I can touch taste or even really see.  He remembered the feeling he experienced once from his childhood.  He had become lost back behind a simple camping space where his aunt and uncle used to park an RV, where he trailed off in a dense wood where suddenly, he could still remember this, the interstate noise had become sheltered off  and away and had disappeared.  There was a wide eyed glance throughout his body, so hard to explain.  He knew where his parents were, right back there, not far away, he knew there were a hundred, a thousand cars passing only within shouting distance, yet he was attracted somehow to the quiet depth of the trees, like companions, he trusted.  He rembered stopping for a moment then, when he was a child, and looking up could see that he was being watched by a large deer with horns, all by itself, and hadn't moved a single inch since Bunkledon had been standing there.  It scared him.  He ran through the trees, never to tell anyone of the harmless deer that scared him out of his skin.  He stayed inside the RV all night, embarrassed, attracted, longing, regretting, only to never venture out again in the forest for fear of such fear and shame.

Bunkledon was not necessarily a deep thinker, but back inside there he knew secretely that this gravitation toward the bear was a peace offering to himself, once and for all.  A sort of kindness came over him.  In that kindness, there was an understanding of all that surrounded him.  You mean no harm to things, they mean no harm to you.  The invisible stuff.  Let's just hope it pays off, he thought, as he cast aside small rocks along the footpath on his way up to the bear Biggalow.