If I Were a Bear — a poem for a winter morning

If I Were A Bear

If I were a bear
I would pay no never-mind
to the rolls of fat around my middle,
to the graying, un-ruly hairs upon my head
or the wiry, scratchy ones sprouting
on my legs and beneath my arms.

No, if I were a bear
I’d snuffle out a place
warm and cozy, full of all the smells
that bring me joy and comfort,
and then I’d wrap my heart in pictures
of those I cherish so that my dreams
would be nothing but sweet.

And, if I were a bear
I’d stay snuggled down
inside my little cocoon until
the green smells of Spring tickled
my nose and my winter-claws
could no longer scratch through the matted
fur on my sun-starved hide.

If I were a bear
I’d emerge, blinking
into the bright sunlight of promise
and I’d go snorting and snuffing
looking for news of all those I left behind
while I slumbered and grew sleek
and hungry for life to return.

If I were a bear.

 

©Kathy Larson 2012
All rights reserved

Sunday morning

If I had any understanding at all of what it is to be a bear — and I don’t — I’d have to say that right now I feel like one.

I spent yesterday burrowed in my den reading, baking bread, doing a little nest-cleaning, but generally moving as little as possible.  I didn’t crack the door on the outside world even once.  It was heavenly.

Tim and I must go out today, though.  Unlike bears we cannot live off our stores of body fat.  Too bad!  And, truthfully, it will do us some good to get the arms and legs moving, shake the cobwebs off our brains.

Winter, much as I hate it, is a reality, and it has finally come to us.  Better to accept it and embrace what traces of enjoyment I can find in it.  The Ice on Whyte Festival winds up today.  We have never been, and seeing as the temp is going to be a balmy minus 15 Celsius today, I think we’ll go take in the splendors of ice-carving.

A picture from last winter -- nothing's changed -- cold is cold is cold.

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