Tag Archives: trees

I smashed the scary pumpkins because they probably had ghosts in them.

I like to stroll through the forest when the winds begin to cause cool breezes and the temperature becomes a nice kind of chill. It is a relaxing way to spend time in the forest, and such temperature and winds seem to only exist briefly between the anger of the sun and stunning cold of the snow. It is not here for long, so I like to enjoy it as much as I can. Sometimes my strolls go a bit far, however. It is easy to lose track where I am and how long I have been spending to get there. Recently, the stroll led to that strange part of the forest where the long, flat black rocks start to appear, cushioned by many human caves and far less trees. It is a strange place, and I try not to go there often (mostly because of all the yelling), but just today, I found myself happily traversing the strange area.

I should have run away when I first saw the pumpkin. I know that now, but something about its smell and its orangeness made me want to see it closer. There were so many of them around this part of the forest, too. I thought it was strange, and I thought it was stranger that all of these pumpkins had been mutilated. Holes had been cut into their thick skin (imagine what kind beast it would take to do that with such precision and power!). The first one I saw was very close to a human cave. I approached it, smelled it, and then tried to see what was inside of it (obviously). I pushed my paw through the holes that were already there, and, strangely enough, it was completely empty. There was nothing inside. I chewed on the thick skin of the pumpkin as I pondered the possibility. Why was this pumpkin empty? Were they always so empty? I had definitely seen pumpkins that were not empty before (mostly in dumpsters), so why was there nothing in this one?

I thought I should go see what other pumpkins nearby were like. There were so many to choose from.

The next one was not empty. I could see it from far away as I stood still on the long, flat black rock, staring at the strange glow coming from the pumpkin. I crept towards it. I had to know why it was glowing. Was there a tiny sun inside? It looked like the same color from a distance. Was the pumpkin angry? That was certainly possible.

When I got a paw’s length away, I batted at the pumpkin. I was cautious. Then, I decided to look through one of the strange holes it had, where the light was shining from.

Inside was a tiny ball of light.

It was bright.

It was scary.

I growled at it as I hurled my paw at it. Clearly, this pumpkin had some kind of pumpkin ghost sitting inside of it, and it was definitely trying to scare me. I smashed the pumpkin with my paws until a human ran out of its cave, yelling at me and swatting a long stick with pine straws on it at me. I tried to tell the human that I was just saving it and its cave from a pumpkin ghost, but the human refused to hear my pleas. It continued to swat at me until I left.

I ran back to my cave. I knew I had done the right thing, even if who it was for could not appreciate it.

I am a bear.

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Special dumpster days.

Something happened to the eggs I found.

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Today, I found some little eggs and put them on a soft pile of dirt and stuff in my cave and put leaves on top of them for warmth. I liked them all. They were all very similar looking but somehow also all unique in their own ways. I spent the day watching over the eggs, studying their tiny, minute differences and trying to understand where they were from and where they were going. I also named them. Trashcan was the one with the tiny scratch mark on the bottom half of the oval. Pinecone was, in my opinion, the pointiest one. And Tree was the most charismatic one.

I liked all of the eggs I found, and I had a great day getting to know them until very recently when something very terrible happened to them.

I had left my cave for awhile to enjoy the cool winds that were gliding through the forest. After letting my fur get a nice puffy aesthetic, I decided to go back to my cave to check in on my new responsibilities.

That is how seriously I was taking getting to know my eggs. See? I even called them my eggs. I expected these eggs to be a crucial part of life, even after having known them for just a morning. I had plans and visions of me taking care of them and ensuring their egg-ness for as long as eggs happen to be eggs. I was excited. I was looking forward to my life with the eggs.

When I got back to my cave, one was broken.

Trashcan was split asunder, his top bits spread about the tiny nest I had made. His gooey innards were spread about the nest. I was horrified.

My initial investigation led me to a theory involving ghosts. Nothing else made sense. But then Pinecone began to tremble. The ghosts were about to strike again, I initially thought.

Before I could ask Pinecone what was wrong, a bird swooped into my cave. It shrieked at me and pecked at my eyes and bit me and made me really upset. Then the bird grasped Pinecone and flew off.

I was so traumatized by what was going on that when I looked at Tree, it took a moment to realize that she, too, was trembling and shaking violently. I sat, shaken from the loss, and stared at Tree.

A tiny, featherless bird burst through the egg, sending shards of egg all about the nest. It made weak sounding chirps.

I knew then that I was fooling myself by coveting the eggs and hoping they would never do what eggs always do: burst into tiny birds and reptiles.

The large bird swooped in once more. With less pecking and shrieking, it grabbed Tree’s innards (a tiny bird) and flew away.

I have had a difficult, weird day.

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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Things possibly related to something probably very important that I might have forgotten or maybe not.

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What thing did I forget that is probably related to the following list of various things that might be the details of the thing I might have forgotten probably?

A dumpster
Muddy, slippery ground
I slipped in some mud?
Feelings of inadequate height
The dumpster might have been taller than I am, and I do not like that about dumpsters because they are very difficult to climb into?
At least one baby raccoon
A very ripped up blue plastic bag
The raccoon was maybe inside the very ripped up blue plastic bag?
Lots of screeching
So much screeching
It hurt my ears, I know that
The moon looking very judgmental
The moon did not say anything, I doubt, but it looked very judgmental probably
Handling very fragile things
Moving things with my teeth, which are not very good for handling very fragile things
Moving very fragile things with my teeth even though I know that handling very fragile things with my teeth is not a great idea
Maybe the bag was fragile?
Maybe the baby raccoon inside the bag was fragile?
Oh, there are faint memories or even more screeching
It is difficult to stress just how much screeching there was
The baby raccoon was definitely contributing to the screeching
I think wanting to find a place for something was involved, but I do not know
Finding a very warm place to rest my face in my cave because I wanted to be warm
But I always want to be warm?
I think I found the baby raccoon in the blue bag
I was definitely very hungry during all of whatever this was
But I am always very hungry?
I wanted to help the baby raccoon
And it was inside a plastic blue bag and screeched a lot
The moon was just so judgmental
Why were you so mad at me, moon? What had I done to you?
So maybe it was night
That seems reasonable
The screeching is in my mind, though
And that baby raccoon
Oh no
I remember now
I had to find a warm place for that baby raccoon I found in the dumpster because it was very clearly very upset about being inside the dumpster and I think I left the blue bag and the baby raccoon in my cave
Oh no, the bag is still in the corner of my cave but the baby raccoon is not
Um
There is no baby raccoon anywhere
I checked all around my cave
And all over the place
Um
Well
Oops
I hope it is okay
It is, right?

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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Sky tantrums.

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The forest and the sky above it can get very angry on occasion, the past few days have exhibited that anger a great deal. Furious winds swept through trees and pulled branches and leaves and sharp rain cut through the dirt of the forest floor, turning it into untraversable plots of gritty mud. From my experiences, this kind of sky tantrum is common when the temperature of the forest climbs down from its summer tower and begins to calm itself leading into the more humble autumn. I have been through a great deal of sky tantrums myself, and I know all creatures in the forest have their own ways of handling these events.

Most creatures, particularly the tinnier ones, tend to hide under logs, rocks, human caves, dumpsters, and other creatures to protect them from the unnecessary anger of the wind. How birds carry themselves through sky tantrums is a bit of a mystery. I have never seen a bird successfully fly during one, but I also rarely see them perched among trees, their alternative to their routine flying. Maybe they hide with the other creatures? Maybe all birds crash into trees during these sometimes terrifying acts of the forest and then new birds are born from the remains the very next day? I hope that is not the case. That would be strange/scary.

I like to walk through it for as long as I can. I squint my eyes and grit my teeth and dig my claws into the ground as I make one laborious step after another. It feels refreshing to do this right after a blazing summer day, and there is something freeing about letting the rushing wind toss through my fur, despite knowing that at any moment that same wind could turn on me and hurt me.

That actually happened during this particular sky tantrum. The wind carried a very large, very pointy, very unsafe branch from a tree and hurled it directly at my face/ears/nose. It was not a pleasant feeling, and, for the briefest of moments, I thought I had met my end to the vengeful acts of the violent wind (I certainly do not blame the branch as it must have been just as terrifying for it to be carried so forcefully by the wind). It hurt, and as soon as I processed what was going on and realized that I was still a bear and not no longer a bear, I galloped back to my cave. I carried the branch with me. I was certain it, too, needed protection. From there, I rested on a cold rock and watched the water from the rain continue to attack the forest floor throughout the night, occasionally gnawing at my guest branch, which might have been rude but I never asked. It would be fun to nap in some of the puddles tomorrow, I thought to myself, and then I continued to chew on the branch.

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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The deer across the river pushed me into the river.

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The deer across the river pushed me into the river.

I did not actually see this happen, but I am absolutely sure it was him. Who else could act so aggressively and maliciously against everything that I am? I do not mind being in the water, but to be suddenly (and without my consent) placed into the river? No. That is not good, and I do not like it, and I am so very angry at the deer across the river and how vile of a creature he truly is.

I am sorry.

I do not mean to come off so flustered, but this was a very bad experience for me. I smelled an interesting and strange smell coming from what was probably a bug or a leaf or maybe a neat rock across the river where I usually get water and look at my reflection. It was coming from where the deer across the river usually stands, mocking me with his knowing glances and horrible demeanor. Against my best interests, I decided to go to the interesting smell. I knew the risk: the deer could be there at any moment, and surely an experience with him would be incredibly upsetting. I liked the smell of whatever was there, though, and I was willing to risk a chance encounter with the deer to smell such a lovely smell up close.

I swam across the river and climbed onto the ground. My paws got muddy as I hurled my wet nose into the soil, searching for the smell I had caught from across the river. I followed the lovely aroma to a tree that leaned toward the river. On one of the lowest branches of the tree sat a bug. I climbed to it, ignoring the tiny cracks of the tree that begged me not to. I told myself I would not spend too much time on the tree, so the cracking sounds could be ignored. I breathed in heavily to fill the insides of my bearness with the smell of this fascinating bug. I did this for awhile, and I was not interrupted by the deer during this crucial smelling experience (at least I can thank him for that, I suppose).

The bug flew away eventually. When it did, It was time to go back to my side of the river, and I cautiously climbed back down to the ground, trying not to bend the branch anymore than I already had. I was surprised the deer was not around yet, but I accepted my luck and approached the river.

Right as I tossed my first paw forward toward the water, I felt a rough jab against my backside. I slipped on the muddy ground and catapulted toward the river. With an embarrassing, enormous splash, I crashed into the water. My ears were instantly filled with water and anger as I desperately paddled my front paws to get to the surface. I knew who was behind this villainous act before my snout got to fresh forest air. The deer across the river. He stood where I had fallen. Beside him laid a broken branch. Surely it was his weapon of choice to commit this atrocity. He had even chosen the branch I had used to comfortably enjoy the smells of a new bug/possible friend. It was cruel. I made desperate growling sounds toward him as he puffed out his lips and made whatever you call the awful sounds deer make when they make sounds (it sounds like coughing but somehow more sickly and depressing).

I got back to my side of the river. I stared at him until my fur began to dry. I wanted him to apologize for what he did, though I knew that would be impossible. I would settle for an admission to guilt, but I never got one. After some more hacking/coughing, the deer walked away. He left his weapon behind.

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

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on the book of faces.

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I hope I have useful skills for forest living.

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I can fit so many leaves in my mouth, and when I see my full-faced reflection on the surface of the river, I feel very proud of myself.

Of course, the deer across the river usually spots me doing this and always tells me that fitting any number of leaves in my mouth is a useless feat fit for those who are more interested in being dead in the forest than being alive. His aggressive and blunt tone aside, the deer has a valid point: what was the purpose of being about to store so many leaves in my mouth at one time?

How is this a useful skill?

I can never think of a way that this skill (which I hesitate to even call it now) would benefit me while I live in the forest.

It does not feed me.

It does not keep me warm.

It does not make me safe.

Fitting many leaves in my mouth is fun certainly, but it seems so useless no matter how much time I spend trying to rationalize its presence in my life.

But I like it.

I like putting leaves in my mouth, and I like putting so many leaves in my mouth that some fall out and I have to nip at them to get them back in even though I know that they would just fall out again.

I like that.

I like everything about putting many leaves in my mouth. I like a lot of things that do not feed me, make me warm, or make me safe. I like rolling through dirt and smelling myself afterward, I like staring at the sky and trying to figure out why it never comes to visit me even though I feel like I am always visiting it by staring at it (but maybe it is staring at me and feels the same?), I like trying to figure out the moon even though I do not think it is possible to figure out the moon, I like knowing how many pinecones there are even though I always lose count, I like knowing what moss smells like, and I like thinking about all of these things that are considered useless by the deer (and probably others) in the scope of my life in the forest.

Thinking about these things makes me happy just like doing these things makes me happy. And when I am happy, I do not worry about feeling hungry, warm, or safe. Feeling happy is enough.

I wonder how many pinecones I can fit in my mouth…

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

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on the book of faces.

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What do you do when the water from above will not let you do anything?

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My fur is very soggy at this moment, and I am not okay with it.

The water from above has been torrential lately and has hindered the enjoyment I usually have for being outside of my cave. My sedimentary status has not be driven by a fear of water (from the sky or otherwise). I usually do not mind being wet. I enjoy a good frolic in the river (when the deer is not present, of course), and on hot days, rain is welcomed.

But the continuous berating of precipitation has become exhausting, and has driven me out into the storm that has become my home. Before accepting my wet fate, I had been in my cave for many moon cycles (I think; it has become very difficult to tell when the sun is up or not in all this gloom), and I have run out of activities to do.

I have counted every single loose rock on the cave floor (there are 37) and have named them (my favorite of the bunch are Glenn, Ned, Samantha, Andy, Emily, Gwen, Rock, Small Rock, Other Rock, The Rock Formally Known as Big Rock [back when there were only 36 rocks, before I dropped one], and Steve).

I gathered several blades of grass and tried to create a game using them. I invited Rob (the squirrel) over to play, but he said the rules were too confusing and then bit my nose and ran to his tree.

The final straw that pushed me out of my solitary cave is when I tried to draw portraits of familiar faces using a stick and soft dirt. Things started out well enough. I did a fine job on Rob (the squirrel), but the water from above crept into my cave and washed it away. The same thing occurred when I drew other woodland creatures who have been kind. Knowing the above water’s sinister disposition, I decided to draw the deer in the hopes that it would also cleanse the foul beast from my home, but the water did not. The above water had other plans and puddled around the image of the deer as if it were trying to protect it.

I do not think I like the water from above. I sloshed a pawful of water from the protective moat and washed away the image of the deer. I had had it with being in my cave.

I did not care how soggy I became, it was better than sitting that cave, trapped by the deer-loving above water.

Now I sit in the pouring water, waiting for it to stop. I wonder if my acceptance of defeat will make the water calm itself. Only time will tell.

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

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on the book of faces.

Follow @a_single_bear

Please do not tell me if I am not a bear.

Hello, I am a bear

Thank you for visiting this site. Please enjoy the comics, writings, and adventures of me, a bear. I am a bear.

Tag Archives: trees

I smashed the scary pumpkins because they probably had ghosts in them.

Special dumpster days.

Something happened to the eggs I found.

Things possibly related to something probably very important that I might have forgotten or maybe not.

Sky tantrums.

The deer across the river pushed me into the river.

I hope I have useful skills for forest living.

Please do not tell me if I am not a bear.

This place is strange.