The first of February.
He sets foot to find a new path,
Filled with sap and dew.


He falls down to the white floor,
Encased in branches and pine.
He exclaims: "Where to next..."
And brushes off thick snow.


He spots animals along his journey,
A colored skunk unarmed next to his lover.
A bald eagle soaring through deep blue skies.
Bearded coyotes leaving their dens,
And horned owls flying suspiciously low.


He then says, "travel is tumultuous, you never know what you will run into!"
So he looks to the sun to light the way,
Never questioning his past.
He stops, sits and stares at the once bright sky.
He lays in a pile of leaves,
And rests his head, waiting for the night that draws near.


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