The Bear Hunt

In the fall, when the air is crisp, a strange madness overtakes the forest. The foolish leaves argue over who has the most beautiful coat while the sensible evergreens laugh at their vanity.

Straining to produce the deepest reds and brightest yellows, the leaves grow weary until they can cling no more. Eventually, the trees are left naked and ashamed, standing upon a carpet of death.

During this season, huge moose with red eyes and bristling antlers charge without fear, their blood running hot with passion. Wise rabbits don camouflage to make an ally of the coming snow, while black bears, as fat as graveyard vultures, are lulled to sleep by the first whispers of the winter wind.

Bull moose in their prime do not fear black bears, but their young often fall prey to the beasts. That is why moose like rabbits; they know what certain shamans know - in the spirit world, bunnies hunt bears. 

When spring breaks, many moose calves fall victim to bears and the rivers swell with their tears. Later, at harvest time, the cowardly bears gorge on blueberries until they get the shits so bad even a blind man can track them. The bunnies simply follow the bear scat and mark their dens, giggling at fortune's fools.

When lulled to sleep by the spell of the winter witch, the bears are not hard to sneak up on. For over one hundred and 17 days they are vulnerable and karma haunts their dreams. Trick or treat, naughty or nice; will their dark deeds turn their den into a tomb? 

Better a tomb than to smell the fresh scent of April showers, only to find oneself caught in a cruel Bear Trap . Such is the fate of those who use their strength to prey upon the young. A reckoning comes, as inevitable as the seasons themselves.