At the end of my 9 miles I saw them. Three enormous bull moose by the parking lot.
So did everyone else. Part of me was annoyed that these people should get to see them too. Some old belief about the necessity of earning joy. Carloads of pale, soft-bodied Walmart shoppers shuffled over to the edge of the willows. Please shut the hell up. Please just look.
The woman on my left asks her companion,
“What do you suppose they’re for? We don’t use their meat… or their fur…”
“You mean, what’s God’s plan for them?”
Sometimes I feel bad for Jesus.
Yet I see how even in the arrogance of my own story, I am blessed with a teaching.
Ark rider. Totem. Alces alces. Holy by any name. Moose.