Wednesday

Once upon a time it was Wednesday, and when the husband and wife awoke, all 
of the windows in their house had been replaced with beautiful panes of stained 
glass. The dining room, they discovered, was flooded with crimson and 
turquoise. The kitchen was bright with yellow and orange. Five brown bears 
danced in the window above the utility sink in the laundry room, their hind paws 
swallowed by a straw yellow field. When the husband and wife went to brush 
their teeth, they saw that the small oval of light above the toilet now featured an 
underwater scene of thin, opalescent fish swimming in an indigo sea of glass.  
Should we keep it? they asked each other. As if they could somehow send it all 
back. As if it wasn't beautiful. They were still happy then. It was still only 
Wednesday. A tangle of wild orchids, the palest shade of purple possible, 
weaving up toward the ceiling above their unmade bed.  

 
Bear Hunt

The man is on a bear hunt and he trudges through many things. He clasps his gun 
and his knapsack and his binoculars and his dog and his thoughts and the whole 
enchilada tightly against his chest and trudges through. He certainly does think 
about the woman, and the stained glass, and how he has been away for far too 
long. He certainly does think about her waiting in all of that impossible light.