Bugles in the Golden Meadow

Bugles in the Golden Meadow

1Uncle Teo parked our car at the edge of Willow Meadow just as the sun slipped behind the mountains. The aspen trees around the meadow had turned bright gold, and their leaves shivered and rattled in the wind. The air smelled like pine needles and cold dirt. I zipped my jacket up to my chin and pressed my nose against the window.

2"In autumn, the elk come out to eat at dusk," Uncle Teo said quietly. "We stay in the car. They are wild animals, and they need lots of space." The meadow was empty except for tall grasses bending in the wind. A narrow stream wound through the middle of it, shining pink and orange under the evening sky.

3Then something moved at the far edge of the trees. One brown shape stepped out, then another, and another. Soon more elk than I could count were spread across the grass, their heads down as they munched. Most of them had no antlers, and a few smaller ones stayed close to their mothers.

4Last of all came a huge elk with antlers that spread out like the bare branches of a tree. He lifted his head, opened his mouth, and let out a sound I will never forget. It started low, then climbed into a high, squeaky whistle, like a rusty gate and a flute at the same time. The sound bounced off the mountains. Goose bumps ran up my arms.

5"That's called bugling," Uncle Teo whispered. "The bull is telling everyone that this is his meadow." Just then, the big elk turned and walked straight toward the road. The other elk followed him in a long, slow line. They crossed right in front of our car, so close that I could see their breath puffing like little clouds. Nobody honked or climbed out, and every car simply waited.

6By the time the last elk had crossed, the sky was dark and the first stars were out. Uncle Teo started the car, but I kept looking back at the meadow. I couldn't see the elk anymore, but that wild whistle kept playing in my head the whole ride home.