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 only one question:/ how to love this world./ I think of her/ rising/ like a black and leafy ledge/ to sharpen her claws against/ the silence/ of the trees./ Whatever else/ my life is/ with its poems/ and its music/ and its glass cities,/ it is also this dazzling darkness/ coming/ down the mountain,/ breathing and tasting;/ all day I think of her —/ her white teeth,/ her wordlessness,/ her perfect love.

Mary Oiliver

Spring as black bear. Spring as dazzling darkness coming down the mountain. Spring as breathing and tasting after being asleep. Spring as winter’s stretch and yawn and flex. Spring as wordless perfect love.

I love to watch the sunrise. Sunrise from inside a city is dazzling darkness. It is hard to tell exactly where city lights end and stars begin. Twilight looks impressionistic and surreal as colors mix and edges soften against the metal and glass landscape.

This time of year when light expands. This time of year that knows the promise of green. This time of year when we are powerful enough to fall awake. That time of year when hope leads us to sharpen our claws and breathe and taste. This time of year when winter’s wisdom breaks all questions down to love. How do we love with the strength and knowing of the big black bear?