“Who ate my apple?’

Was the first thing I said

When I woke up that morning

With camper’s head.

I’d put trash in a bag

Up in a tall tree

And in it an apple

Too mealy to eat.

At dawn, I awoke

And the whole bag was GONE!

No noise, mess, or snaggle–

Just a branch that was torn

Straight off the tree

As if it were twisted…

Could a bear do that?

If so, I’ve missed it…

Years as a camper

And never I’ve seen

A bear steal food

So neatly, so clean.

This job was perfect.

I pondered who’d done it.

Racoon, bear, or skunk…

Or Sasquatch?

        Dream on it….

(I wrote this poem a few months ago while thinking about the very curious experience {described in the poem} that I had on a 5 day solo “Vision Quest” in the Chiracahua mountains in Arizona several years ago.  I love a good MYSTERY!)