The blood was the mountain and the mountain was the bear

The blood was the mountain and the mountain was the bear fiction Rachel Yoder Photo by Gabriel Amadeus liot had wanted to hike in deep, but the trails were all closed that day, and clouds were blowing in fast from the west, whole countries of weather that slid over Whitefish and roiled there in the sky. Even the mountains felt small. S P R I N G 2 0 13 / T H E M I S S O U R I R E V I E W 11 He was hungry. It had been weeks of beef jerky and trail mix from the panniers on his bicycle. His legs had stretched out taut and ropy from the miles of pedaling through the Montana mountains, and then the early spring prairies filled with pink flowers, past a river jammed with logs, on that stretch of road where it seemed as though his bike would nose up from the pavement and fly him over the meadows and mountains and, further south, to the red soil of the canyon lands. He carried with him a pinecone big as his foot and a smooth white rock he'd pried from the mud at the edge of a clear lake. He carried with him http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Missouri Review University of Missouri

The blood was the mountain and the mountain was the bear

The Missouri Review, Volume 36 (1) – May 1, 2013

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Publisher
University of Missouri
Copyright
Copyright © The Curators of the University of Missouri.
ISSN
1548-9930
Publisher site
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Abstract

fiction Rachel Yoder Photo by Gabriel Amadeus liot had wanted to hike in deep, but the trails were all closed that day, and clouds were blowing in fast from the west, whole countries of weather that slid over Whitefish and roiled there in the sky. Even the mountains felt small. S P R I N G 2 0 13 / T H E M I S S O U R I R E V I E W 11 He was hungry. It had been weeks of beef jerky and trail mix from the panniers on his bicycle. His legs had stretched out taut and ropy from the miles of pedaling through the Montana mountains, and then the early spring prairies filled with pink flowers, past a river jammed with logs, on that stretch of road where it seemed as though his bike would nose up from the pavement and fly him over the meadows and mountains and, further south, to the red soil of the canyon lands. He carried with him a pinecone big as his foot and a smooth white rock he'd pried from the mud at the edge of a clear lake. He carried with him

Journal

The Missouri ReviewUniversity of Missouri

Published: May 1, 2013

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