The Search for The Swedish Moose by William Capozzoli

I went to Stockholm for many reasons: a glimpse at a quixotic utopia, love, to renovate my vague conception of democratic socialism in Sweden, among other things. But nothing from my most precarious imagination was more desirable than the Swedish Moose. I walked into Skansen Park in search of the Swedish Moose. I saw a campfire and geese by an old manor. I trekked many hills and darkness was approaching. I stood atop a tower in search of Swedish Moose. I looked through thousands of fallen yellow leaves to the Gran Alma across the water. I stumbled upon a family of moose in a stable. It took them several long seconds to turn their heads from one side to the other. They were standing and walking and standing and walking. But one Swedish Moose sat comfortably in the corner of a stable, shoulders upright and head strong with smirk and prose that conveyed only the most polished Swedish etiquette. Everything around me faded out as the Swedish Moose turned into a mystic soothsayer. I knelt down to introduce myself:

"Hello Swedish Moose," I said.

"Stop being so courteous. Make yourself at home. Have a carrot. We haven't got but an October's sunset. What questions have you?" he replied.

"What is the derivation of your kind?"

He raised his shoulders a little higher and said, "Prowess is not inherited through genes but learned. Life's situations are unavoidable. The Swedish Moose guide their offspring through adversity by giving them opportunity to gain the upper hand at every instance. It is like rights of passage. Whether or not Swedish Moose fall for the floating log trick or finding grub in a low yield zone is up to the Swedish Moose really."

"Where have your antlers gone?" I asked.

"They took them away when we moved here because we began goring each other. With domestication came madness. Do you have this problem in your land with your kind?”

“I’m trying to figure that out.”

“The problem is societies in general. That shit your kind invented. Societies force feed their inhabitants with many ideas, technologies, and things.

"Is there any way to avoid this?" I asked.

"Leave. Go fast. Head north and seek the Swedish Archipelago, the Uppsala region. The land there is dotted with islands and pristine waterways. And then come back for a June's sunset." He replied.

He motioned and bowed his head to me through the fence. I calmly cupped my hand on his nose with my fingers running up the bridge of his nose to his eyes. All of my surroundings suddenly faded back in. A school of children approached and startled the Swedish Moose. He got up and trotted away.