i feel like i don’t need to explain this one as much as others so i’ll keep it short.
the thing about Winter is it’s predictable. predictable enough for nature to prepare for it’s coming and leaving in a way that even becomes predictable to us, the people who get to observe and reflect upon change. and the thing is, as great as humans are at adapting to change, we’re pretty near-sighted when it comes to dealing with it. at least i am. the beetle in my poem, however, can rely upon the change of the seasons. in some way he can set an alarm knowing he will in fact be woken up. and if Winter is the metaphor for hardship, i feel somewhat less prepared for Winter and Spring seems a long way off.
in a few months the beetles will wake up and the pines will relax their shoulders and, if Winter is the metaphor for hardship, i feel less prepared than the beetle or the pine for the foreboding cold. the warmth of Spring seems to await me now.