Founded in the fall of 1991, Laurel Moon is Brandeis' oldest, national literary publication. Each issue we publish features original work from undergraduate students.
There’s a bear in my woods. He appears between paper birches and pines. He is brown and leaves dish-sized prints in the new snow. I chase after him. When I catch up, his lumber is patient and he does not stop for me. The hump between his shoulder blades sways side to side as he places each foot. His breath curls around his great head like cigar smoke. I am panting as we fall into step. I ask him what he’s doing here. He points out that he could say the same for me. I begin to feel self-conscious looking at his thick, coarse hair. He is better dressed than I. His fur coat hangs luxuriously on his bones like that of a proud old oligarch. Snow clings to it like pearls. He must notice me eyeing him because he offers a touch, which I accept. I find that the underfur beneath the bristle is soft, and warm, and I am enthralled. Still, the bear does not stop. I ask him where he is going. He nods his great head as though that is an answer. I wonder if it is an invitation.