On the way to my writing desk at 4:20 a.m. this morning, I paused by the window that overlooks my backyard. Often as I look out of the window at that time of day, I imagine that I see things: dinosaurs skittering across the yard, a man in a long coat leaning against the shadowy side of a tree, or UFOs blinking at me. The visions dance across the screen of my still somnolent mind overlaid upon the backyard.
This morning I saw something strange. The day before, my son Kai had left a small plastic swimming pool in a crumpled heap in the middle of the yard. Needing to paint the house, he had dragged it into the yard where I could see it before dawn on a cool September morning. The pool I expected, but not the two black things next to it. What were they?
I was certain from the moment I saw them. Two young black bears rested in my back-yard. They sat very still, close to the heap of pool, facing each other. Ridiculous, I thought. Still groggy from sleep, I rubbed my eyes and tried to imagine what else they could be, even as I knew they were bears. They didn't move. I wondered where they had come from. I previewed the call I would make to the police station. All the while I looked and looked.
Then came the moment of disillusionment. My eyes cleared. Kai had left the light on in the bathroom, creating shadows beside the pool. My mind, not expecting shadows at night, had done the best it could and had seen two black bears huddled by the heap of pool. But I preferred bears to shadows. How much more dramatic, meaningful, and unexpected bears are than a bit of lawn the bathroom light can't shine on. Here was a story, something to impress my friends, and mark the day for years to come. But now that I had a more plausible explanation, I was a little sad. I wished one of those shadows had licked the other, and, together, they had stood up and ambled across my yard in the moonlight under the cottonwoods. But they didn't. As shadows, they didn't even sit up any more. Now they lay resolutely flat on the ground, nothing bear about them at all. I thought about shutting off the light to free the shadows. Maybe the light, the pool, and the ground had frozen to the spot those poor bears. If I turned off the light, they would scamper off into the woods and go about their snuffling way. But the light, the pool, the ground, and my mind had called those bears into my backyard, not trapped them there.
Still I left the light on. It was the least I could do for them. They continued to huddle together by a crumpled up pool in somebody's backyard and listen to the hiss of the cottonwood leaves moving in the wind overhead. The frogs have quit singing for the season, but the reeds and cattails still rustled quietly under the silent moon. I left the light on. I would not interrupt a sweet moment like that. I would rather have two black bear cubs resting quietly, affectionately, together in my backyard by the swamp under the stars than just another patch of darkness.