And so the day begins: interrupted by dreams, daylight slowly filtered through lazy bones and aching shoulderblades. What's a month if not breath, a pause, a midday nap. So Winter days come to end while temperatures still freeze lives against their will.
Leaves are not seen any more, but they will surely come again. I lack fur to hide in caves, but I'm primitive enough to invent fire as if nothing had ever happened.
A hay(na)ku chapbook.