Spring

Somewhere

a black bear 

has just risen from sleep

and is staring

down the mountain. 

All night

in the brisk and shallow restlessness

of early spring

I think of her, 

her four black fists

flicking the gravel, 

her tongue 

like a red fire

touching the grass, 

the cold water. 

There is one only one question: 

how to love this world. 

                                                                      -Mary Oliver 

Spring is coming. I can feel it…