Dance of the Bison

The instant I got out of the bus, my senses were overwhelmed with the heavy scent of too much salt. I don't think I ever really remembered just how much salt was in that lake until I was close to it. A bit of wind carried the salty smell through the air, regularly refreshing my memory.

I looked across Antelope Island, which was dead and empty during the winter. There were small patches of hard snow here and there, but otherwise it was mostly brown grass and a few dark brown rocks.

The other people that had been on the tour bus milled about, waiting for the guide to come and tell us more about brine shrimp. They were the only things that could live in the Great Salt Lake, which was lapping gently on the shores of the island. I stood apart from the group, not really interested in the lives of the shrimp.

I strayed away from the guided tour and walked a little on my own, keeping the others in sight.

As always, there were plenty of bison on the island, though I had yet to see any antelope. There were about four of them near where I stood, looking at me with passive eyes. One of them chewed idly on the dead grass.

Standing there, staring at bison who simply stared right back, my mind formed a vision of them stampeding. A group of the powerful beasts charging across the grass with decorations and ornaments on their horns and fur.

The image broke. After all, the bison were not so whimsical as all that. They were just like me, quiet and dull. I wondered vaguely if they felt as bored with life as I did. I thought Antelope Island would be a nice place to die. It would be so easy to lose the rest of the tour group and spend a cold night in the lake. Maybe I'd freeze.

Of course, I didn't have any real courage and life wasn't so bad.

The call of a seagull caught my attention and I looked up at the sky. A few of them circled nearby and then flew off.

I went back to following the group.

After an awful climb up a steep hill, we rested for lunch. I didn't bring a lunch and I wasn't hungry, so I wandered off alone again.

I found a lone bison that seemed to be gazing out at the lake. It turned its eyes on me when I got closer. I took small, tentative steps. I wasn't afraid of it. How could I be? It was so placid. It watched me, but it didn't move away.

I took one more step. I could have reached out my hand to touch it. Instead, I sat down on the dead grass and looked up at its hulking body.

I began a mental interview with it, asking it questions and answering them for it.

Do you ever get tired of this island?

Sometimes. But I live here and the grass is nice.

Do you sometimes think that maybe, if you ran hard enough and fast enough, that you could just keep going forever and ever?

No. I'd run out of energy eventually.

Have you ever dreamt of running through the clouds?

Why would I dream of such a strange thing?

Just to see what it was like.

It wouldn't count, since it wouldn't be real.

I thanked the bison for its time, stood up, and wandered back toward the group, who were finishing lunch.

I concluded that the bison was bored like me, but unlike me, it was more level headed.

The group began to head back toward the bus, which was now at the bottom of the steep hill. I lingered behind the line of people, still thinking about my talk with the bison. I kept my head down, ignoring the small buzz of talk that drifted back to me.

The wind kicked up. I lifted my head. I stopped short.

Sometimes I still wonder if what I saw was just my imagination finally providing me with crazy hallucinations to go along with my fantastical daydreaming. And yet at the same time, I never saw anything so very real.

It was another bison, by itself, on the side of the hill. Unlike its brethren, it was not simply standing or chewing grass or even walking slowly. It was dancing.

I stood stock still, watching its massive bulk move through the air as it danced and pranced on its small hooves. Its tail bounced in rhythm and its great head swayed back and forth. I couldn't understand how something so big could move so lightly.

It continued its dance down the hill and I couldn't tear my eyes away. It ignored the group of people nearby entirely, caught up in its dance.

And then I felt like the clouds descended or maybe the bison and I flew upward somehow because the white fluff was all around. It danced through the cottony masses, never once skipping a beat.

This is how I want to be, I thought to it. I want to be like you. I want to dance.

Then everything fell back down to earth when I heard someone from the group calling to me. I thought the spell would break, but it didn't. It clung fast to me, as though entirely unwilling to let me go.

I ran down the hill after the group and clambered into the bus. I stuffed myself beside a window and pushed my face up to it. Outside, the bison continued its hoofwork, skipping down the barren hill. I grinned and watched it until it was out of sight.