A faint, muted drumming could be felt above. Minutes later the first drops of moisture made their way to the husk, creeping through the slowly warming soil. Within the seed an alarm rang and a spark ignited. The husk cracked, and a fragile green tendril began chasing the rain on its course to the sky.
The stream, churning and nearly bursting its banks with the onslaught of mountain snow, punctuated the crisp March air. Unaware of the eyes that followed them endless waves of humpies fought the current tirelessly on their upstream quest. With a great splash the young Kodiaks hopped into the frigid stream looking for a hearty lunch.
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Fresh snow crunched beneath Luke’s boots on his unsteady circuit around the yard. Suddenly, the ground gave way, and he tumbled forward plunging his hands into the powder. Cold shot through his arms, and as he struggled to stand tears welled up.
Maybe mom was right. Maybe mittens weren’t such a bad idea after all.
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The bear pounced on my back, seemingly from out of nowhere. Its arms wrapped around my body. I thought there was no escape. Somehow I wrestled it to the ground and forced it into submission. I cheered until the stockboy told me that since I ripped its sides, I had to buy the stuffed bear.
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The gazelle’s every muscle flexed. She was prepared should her alarm be justified. Only her ears moved, turning this way and that, straining to hear any evidence of danger in the long, dry grass. Minutes passed. And nothing.
Slowly the doe lowered her head to drink, and the crocodile shut his jaws on her neck.
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