The Lean Time

Another moon turns,

and the wolf howls.

It is the long season.

The lean time.

The fat of winter,

no longer succoring.

The hunger waxes

before the Sun parades.

 

These are the lean times;

where the prey is sparse,

but it is slow when caught

and easily frightened.

Soon the prairie

will bear its young,

and the forests will dance

their mating ritual.

 

Blood to be born,

and blood to live;

but no one gets fat

on the hunt.

Awakening

with the first shoots

and the river flow,

is the hunger;

precious hunger.

 

There is no greater feeling

than knowing

you are still alive.

 

HG – 2020

 

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