Greens I must find greens urge from within. Once young tender sweet sprouts become tough, brittle, and more scarce each day announcing the onset of cold winter. Beneath the new fallen blanket of leaves, still growing greens are to be found.

Grazing was good today. Belly is filled. Hungry bowels absorb sweet juices. Blood enriched… leg muscles announce fatigue. As knees slowly yield, legs tuck snugly underneath, body slumps to cozy familiarity. Long lashed eyelids slowly close, eyes tighten shut, and ensuing sleep is welcome.

Rodents rustle dry leaves nearby. Keen ears pay them no mind. They are no threat. Now barren trees give little to no visible barrier nor shelter from elements that fall from above. I lay unseen as darkness overtakes the woods, invisible among the old leaves I blend in.

What little constitutes my thoughts are faint echoes… thirst for streams, desire for Spring greens, urges, and un-discernable memories of being young and bearing young. Ears remain keen yet in sleep, trained against silence to warn of any variance announcing danger. Motionless, I yield to stillness as the day’s nourishment fuels fat beneath my skin.

Oblivious to the hours just past, night mist turns later to drops of rain rolling down the fur that encases me. Still I sleep though changes in the air’s moisture alert me. Fog wafts through the trees. New day’s light veiled by the close canopy of cloud stirs me.

Waking now, ears tell me that all is still and quiet. I dare not move until once heavy eyelids spring open and eyes confirm what my ears have told me. Legs again bear full weight as I rise. Slowly walking my legs carry me. Fluid flows, bladder shrinks comfortably. Yesterday’s nourishment neatly packed and dry falls in my wake. Layers of shrinking fat call upon my bowels for food. I know these things. This is life to me.

Feeling neither hot nor cold, harsh winter winds are soon to come. Greens I must find greens urge from within. Sharing a network of trained ears and watchful eyes I forage among others like me. Nothing moves without notice. Life big and small surround us all moved by the common urge to forage… to feed… to live another day… to fill the belly.

The presence of predators instantly recognized by elders is telegraphed among us by their swift retreat to the safety of the woods. The young that would survive quickly follow.

One slow moving aged and one young slow to respond fall prey. Their absence is noted but no memory remains. Harsh winter winds are soon to come. Greens I must find greens urge from within.

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