This morning, when you stooped
to scoop more snow into your shovel, and hearing the blade
scrape against the driveway, you wondered,
how pleasant it must be to be an endotherm,
to breathe shallowly, and hear only the sound
of your slow heart beats. Right about now,
the bears are curling up into balls of sleep
and rolling into the dreamland where berries
are the size of a cub’s head, and the slopes
of the mountain drip with honey.
All day the headlines scream of malice and mayhem
until our hearts go into hibernation.
They curl up in a deep sleep, tumble
into the world where babies
are the size of a pin, and the mothers hold them
gingerly on their palms, as if a slight tilt
would make them vanished.
I am participating in Leah’s Winter 2016 Scavenger Hunt Writing so that I would be more committed to writing daily. This is prompt number nine: Hibernation.
Check out Leah’s Scavenger Hunting 2016 here: