These are the books I’m “in the middle of” this fiery August, full of potential. I’m in the middle of negotiating radical system shifts, facing down old shame, delighting in inspiration, and inviting others to lean into the turning alongside me. Anybody else feeling it?

Last night we saw a bear. Tonight we’re out walking with all the necessary precautions. 23 hours and 15 minutes later I remain unable to take my eyes from the bear’s path. Heightened vigilance, whether hope or fear driven I cannot say now. I also cannot listen as hard as I would like to because I have to make noise as I walk. I have bear spray in my back pocket with the safety off, and I expect never to use it.

Last night an adult black bear chose to walk past me and Deets. I saw it too late for me to make myself big and loud without startling. Instead, I stood still and chill, or frozen. Deets too, flattened herself and waited. Tonight any unknown sound startles. Despite my piqued nerves and hopes, I truly do not expect to see that bear again, much less entangle with it. Remarkably, I have faith.

Had it stood up, that grown-ass bear would have been several inches taller than me. I heard terrific foot-falls thumping the arid ground as it’s lumbering body parted dessicate grasses like so many stiff curtains opening to admit an actual bear’s potential. Toward foot falls that I knew immediately could not be deer, I turned thinking of elk, and was stunned by that glorious bear, already within 30 feet at my noticing. It’s healthy, brown coat shone deep and lustrous in the bright sunset, face unassuming somehow, placid with neutrality even as its holy head lifted to take me in. Less than 15 feet away now, me: eyes lowered, awestruck, shaking in supplication, thinking mightily that I am no threat, picturing the bear walking away. (Deets: flat and hidden from view, probably picturing the same thing but with her own hope of friendship.) A perfect black bear in whose marginally paused gait and steady departure I felt the bestowal of blessing as fresh oxygen. The holy terror of proximity, the holy reward of being ignored. New breath, new hope. “Tomorrow will be the most beautiful day of [their] life.” Actually awesome. I trust that I will never again see that newly beloved bear; it didn’t deign to look back. How poignant that I already feel sorrow at not further witnessing such beauty. Bear-eft, even.