The white fire sun fought valiantly, but could not smite the menacing mists of early morn that hid the horizon's forest from our view. Cool and moist, the air clung to our beaming faces with promise of muggy stickiness only a half an hour away as midges and mosquitoes supped upon our warming skin. And so it was, as we strolled the leveled path that lead into the forest of bearded mossy oaks and amber bleeding pines. We enjoyed each other as we enjoyed Nature's bounty on such a splendid dawn, quiet in thought and smiles of wonder. Ah, but just ahead, watchful eyes gauged our advance, though we knew not, for humans are such unobservant creatures, even in our striving to be so. As our ambling hike brought us to the hidden forest edge, one of my slobbery Danes struck a stalking pose. Nerved and ready to spring; ears perked and head bent straight into the wafting breeze, for she was keenly aware, far more than we who claim to be the wiser of the beasts, of what wonderful terror lay a head. Silently, slowly, just a few yards before us, a dark ghost of crooked bough, hanging gray mosses and green-black leaf emerged from the mists now lifting, trembling and shaking before us; but the wind stood still. It paused, then again the branches swayed as if an invisible giant were passing by, unaware of what insignificant bit of life would be tread upon in his sunny stroll above the tree and cloud. Stopped were our feet, palpitating were our hearts as there before us an inky black form descended the quaking ancient oak, cracking and crashing from bough to acorn littered forest floor. "What manner of creature could this be?" we mused as childhood alphabet books of animals sped through our giddy minds. Then the descended body, round and full, lifted her head enough that we could spy the teddy bear ears of a black bear who then charged full into the thicket of brambles and slicing palmetto, escaping nothing more harmful than our gaze. Full realization leapt into our hearts when we glimpsed, gripping with claw and paw, another as it dropped free from the tree as a giant ripe apple heeding Newton's law. A cub, and then another in similar fashion, gracelessly felled himself, thud to the soft ground and followed earnestly the trail of momma; away into the wood. Our hearts did not know fear, only wonder at what our most privileged eyes beheld (Though hindsight made me glad we did not become the trailer for "When Animals Attack IV"). The very same sow and cubs I had seen some months ago on my homeward trekking, when so young they could barely climb a sapling. Now nearly the size of their mother, though no doubt still filled with the childish antics of babes, the three ran in a lumbering urgency that only bears can pull off. A fashion that says, "I am ruler of the wood, and shall let you pass your way; but only for today."

Gail Boysen escapes being devoured, and lives to write again.