Joshua Michael Stewart
Unclear and Not So Present Danger
On my daily walk around the reservoir and surrounding woods, a motorcyclist heading toward me stops in the middle of the road and waves his arms frantically. What the hell is he doing? I think.
I look over my shoulder; a black bear stands on a bluff between two scraggly bushes about five yards away. The bear’s motionless. Up the road, forest rangers distributed coyote decoys around the reservoir to scare off Canada geese. Bear decoy?
I stare into the eyes to see if I can see life. The bear cocks its head. I fight the impulse to run but pick up my pace and reach the motorcyclist idling on the road. “I tried to warn you,” he says through barn-wide teeth.
“Thanks,” I reply, catching my breath. I turn back to the bluff and wonder how the motorcyclist could spot the bear from this angle with all the overgrown vegetation. The bear eases down and crosses the road, disappearing into a thicket. Not once did the bear look in our direction.
“That has to be a three-hundred pounder,” I say.
“Oh, jeez,” says the motorcyclist. “I didn’t even see that one.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was trying to warn you about the bear that stepped out behind that white pine. It crossed into the woods right behind you.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Afraid not,” he chuckles. “That bear on the bluff must’ve acted as a decoy so the other could tiptoe past you.” He laughs at his joke, revs his engine, and speeds off. I watch him until he’s a red dot amongst all the green.
summer dusk
at the reservoir’s edge
a canada goose
slumbers in the shadow
of what she’s supposed to fear
About the Author
Joshua Michael Stewart is the author of Break Every String, The Bastard Children of Dharma Bums, and Love Something. His work has appeared in Modern Haiku, Frogpond, Massachusetts Review, Salamander, Brilliant Corners, 100-Word Story, New Flash Fiction Review, and many others. He lives in Ware, Massachusetts.