I never tell the truth. I never describe the bear. People assume, when you’re quiet, a fast-paced current races inside, filled with idea-scaled trout bracing to jump over the waterfall, out of your mouth. My shallow river dug itself an inescapable canyon. Many man-made constructions hinder its flow, draught reduces the strong tributary to a weak capillary. Survivors can’t withstand the pink, ursine guardian who dwells on the waterfall. He forces down what he deems distasteful; anything with a chance of damaging the landscaping. Erosion builds; one prod produces a mudslide. Natural disasters expunge artificial obstructions; future floods become containable. The bear will take time to tranquilize and tame. A river finally undammed, allowed to flow, quietly.
