NaNoWriMo. Now I've never done NaNoWriMo, but I did consider it this year, having a novel to write myself. But I just can't bring myself to do it. The days of winter, for me, are a time of going inward, a time of hibernation in which to do my creative dreaming. So in keeping with the season in which I become the writer-bear, I give you a poem to celebrate those of us who prefer to take things a little more slowly.
Into the Shaman’s Cave
Dark: descending dark, and my hand in dense fur.
Black dark, night dark as the Bear devours.
Flesh first, stripped bone bare on the cave floor.
Eyes last, vision quenched,
a delicacy licked out by a Bear's hungry tongue.
Blood to earth, thirsty earth,
Now and now and now and now
the red cave beckons.
I know Mother's secrets now,
For I am the Bear.