The living hibernate in earth,
feasting on stored layers of fat.
The dead turn restlessly in their graves.

A bear's den lies dark and dank,
cozy enough for three.
Cubs ride their mother's back.

Snow piles on snow, shedding
a winter warmth only the sleeping
can absorb. The dead freeze alone.

Spring breezes to the door,
knocking rocks out of place.
Time to rise and roam.

Time to dream of berries and roots,
gorging on harvests of herbs.
Piling on more layers of fat.

Life spins in a cycle:
eat, sleep, eat again.
Sunshine marks the way.