It smelled good.

That was the original reason I had for poking my head into the hollow log I found in the forest, a little ways away from the river and across from the very interesting looking pile of rocks.

Moss?

Mold?

Some kind of mushroom?

A mouse carcass?

I had no idea what I was smelling, but I knew that it was a lovely smell that I wanted to investigate.

So I did.

When my snout scooted into the log, I felt the waft of the smell hit my face. It was delightful, so I continued to squeeze every part of me I could fit into the hollow log. It took quite some time to get inside, but after some honest labor, I got into the log.

I spent a long time sniffing the log. Enjoying the smells. Licking the old mold I was sitting in. It was a lovely time, but I knew I would eventually have to go.

So I tried to leave.

But I was unable to.

I struggled as I thrashed my limbs and wiggled my belly. I kept trying to slide my way through the hollow log, but I was stuck.

And then I got scared.

What if I got stuck here forever?

And then I took a nap.

I decided that being asleep would be easier than facing any difficult question that would only worry me more than solve the problem, so I napped. It was a nice nap, and I figured by the time I woke up, the log problem would have fixed itself.

I was wrong.

I woke up to find that I was still very much stuck in the hollow log, and, though it still smelled lovely, the mixture of mold and moss and rain water was beginning to not feel great on my belly fur.

I thrashed some more, and I could not get out.

I was stuck, and no amount of napping was going to change that.

For awhile, I passed the time by staring at the inside of the log. It had some neat looking cracks and lines and little bugs crawling in and out, but I eventually got bored of that scene, so I stared at the ground for awhile. Again, neat looking in its texture and bugs and the water tasted fantastic, but I got bored.

I was alone with my thoughts. And those thoughts focused on the idea of me never getting out of that log. I considered the possibilities of this existence. I would have to live off of bugs and mold (which is okay), and I would never see so many important things ever again (dumpsters, light poles, other logs, etc.). Perhaps I would become known around the forest as the log-bear, the bear who never leaves his log because he cannot. It was an interesting idea, but, ultimately, it just made me sad.

When my thoughts wandered from the thought of never leaving the log (my likely future), I started to think about my past, particularly all of the mistakes that had led me to this fate. Why would I be so ready to wander into this log? Why would I succumb to the desire to find whatever was in the log? Did I deserve this?

Why was it too late to make any of this right?

I let out a small growl/howl sound. It was a sound of frustration and anger and regret. And then the log broke. It shattered into a million wooden shards.

I was free, and I should have taken that moment to be thankful for my lucky turn of events or to at least meditate on how I could have avoided this situation.

Instead, I ran.

I ran to my cave and napped again.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site? 

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

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