Hibernation

I'm sharing a den with Lily and Hope

but I'm the only one still hibernating.

Lily and her cub are outside at the moment,

getting some fresh air.

Emerald sunlight bathes them from

the leafy cover, drawing highlights of grey

from the shag of their midnight winter coats,

and dripping golden pools across the forest floor.

On all fours, alert—Lily holds her nose astutely

north, her mini-me beside her faces rear. I feel far

from harm seeing their calm vigilance, safe

in our den from all intrusion, real and imagined.

The real’s been several months now, while my bears

have been with me several years, gracing the Navajo

blanket I hang from nails over my windowed door to

fend off solar glare and bolster my illusion of privacy--

An illusion so vital it rarely granted hopes of social

surprise, yet misses that luxury at the moment.

                                                                                                              m.d. paust