There was a strange smell in the air, which warned Bea to do her strolling exercise in a new area. She had a very unsettled feeling in her tummy, far worse than the feeling of fifty bees swarming. It was more like what she might be feeling if for some reason she'd eaten a whole pot of bad honey that had suddenly turned black.

Tossing and twisting restlessly the whole night, with that awful smell, lurking, covering all other familiar smells; it was Bea's turn to tell her dear friend Scruffles the Raccoon Cat about her terrible dreams. She didn't fully understand what they meant but was certain they had something to do with Bea's Golden Path. Scruffles stayed by her bedside the entire night, comforting her and telling her he would go with her in the morning to help her make new footprints if something had happened to them.

The sun did not peek over the trees soon enough for Bea. Scruffles' eyes didn't seem to want to open; he was in a very deep sleep. Bea was so anxious that she didn't even take time for her "be-good-to-myself'' treat, nor would she allow Scruffles to do his morning cat bathing. Bea, usually a very patient wee bear, was aware of her impatience with Scruffles' slow steady pace. She had a sense that something was terribly wrong, and wanted to do sprinting rather than her usual strolling exercise.

Scruffles and Bea both changed their minds about making any new footprints and just stared at the ooze which covered the path that used to be called Bea's Golden Path. It wasn't gold anymore. It was black, the blackest black they had ever seen. And sadder yet, all of Bea's footprints were buried. All of the footprints of all of the creatures who had ever been privileged to tread upon Bea's Golden Path were somewhere here underneath two inches of blacktop.

She told Scruffles that she was worried that someday all of the mud, topsoil, fallen pine needles, green grasses, and other unnamed dirt paths would be covered with blacktop. It was definitely time to do a very rigorous brain exercise. She decided to talk to the maker of the pine trees. She heard the comforting hum of the bees making honey and somehow knew that things would work out the way the maker knew would be best.

When a pine cone landed in front of her, she noticed a tiny pine tree which had sprouted up through a rock ledge. She smiled as she pictured pine trees and grasses breaking through this manmade blackness and all of the traces of creatures being rediscovered, best of all, the golden part of Bea's Golden Path.