I read a poem about a bear.
It reminded me of once upon a time, when I stood in a zoo – the very last time I ever entered a zoo. I stood in a plexiglass-walled cave, and watched a bear on the other side.
The bear pushed off of the clear wall and swam, its pool merely three times the length of its body stretched out. It – he? she? – ducked under and swam back, pushed off of the wall and reached the shore, ducked under and swam, pushed off of the wall, ducked under, swam.
The motion was restful, meditative, some part of me moving through the water with the bear, making the best of a cramped situation not unlike my perception of my own.
Two people strolled up through the cave, remarking on the news story about the bear’s depression, tsk tsk tsk-ing away.
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