This morning I was walking from home to the studio--not the usual
studio I teach at but the one on nearer my house, where I was subbing
a class--and I walked through the park and toward the bridge that
crosses over the river. As I approached, I noticed a man standing in
the middle of the bridge, looking intently over the railing at the
water below. As I drew nearer, the man looked at me, eyes wide, and
said, "There is a large beaver down there with a large stick. He just
went under the bridge. But if you wait and look over the other side,"
he said, pointing toward the opposite railing, "you might see him
come out from beneath the bridge." And then he walked away and left
me on the bridge by myself.

I decided to trust that the man was telling the truth because I
wanted to see a beaver. If he was lying, all I'd lose was a couple
seconds of my time, and also getting to see a beaver. It seemed like
a small investment for a large possible payoff. So I went over to the
opposite railing and looked over, down at the water, and there was
nothing there but a bunch of water rushing out from under the bridge
toward some rocks, over which the water tumbled and churned.

And then I saw a big fat beaver come slowly lazily out from under the
bridge and paddle toward the rocks. It was carrying in its mouth one
end of a long, thin stick, maybe an inch thick, while the other end
trailed along beside and behind it. It's fur was a reddish brown and
kind of matted with water, and its tail was long wide flat and
leathery behind it.

I rarely get to see a beaver, and I was very happy that the man
shared the existance of this one with me. It would otherwise have
been beneath the bridge as I crossed over it, and I'd have never
seen it.

I felt obligated to share the beaver with somebody else, with the
next person to cross the bridge, and so I waited, watching the beaver
clamber up onto the wet rocks. Soon, somebody started crossing the
bridge toward me, and when they were close enough, I pointed and told
them, "There's a big beaver down there with a stick," and they
stopped and looked down over the side of the bridge and they saw the
beaver and smiled, and I walked away, having passed the torch to
them. Now they were enjoying the sight of the beaver, and soon
somebody else would come, and they'll tell that person about the
beaver too, in this way keeping the chain going.

And I felt part of a community, of a secret Beaver Sighting Society.
A society with simple rules and simpler secrets, founded on a
progression, a passing of ownership, not of the beaver, for none of
us could own the beaver. Such a thing can never be possible and
should never be considered. But we each of us owned *looking at the
beaver* for a short while, alone and quite and smiling on the bridge,
until the next one should come along, and at such a time it is the
newcomer's turn to own looking at the beaver and the original
person's turn to leave them.

As I continued to the studio, I reflected on how the whole ordeal
from start to finish probably only took 60 - 90 seconds. It required
of me but a little bit of trust and curiosity, and left me with a
feeling of wonder and belonging.