This moose has been browsing his way through a willow swamp. The gentle snow of the night before has settled on every little twig. In fact, a few flakes are still falling, creating a counterpoint of dedicate white tracery against the powerful planes of the moose’s form. The tranquility of this scene is short-lived, however. For some reason the bull moose decides to charge in my direction. At the very last moment he veers off, giving me a baleful glance as he thunders past. - Robert Bateman