The way it looks, in snow with paws
between a baby and a bear, brushed
with tail, from scattered snow
on crust, not melted yet.
I know she crossed our tracks the
moonlit night before.
The sun just starts to lick my
skin with warmth, lulls me
but her myths are graves,
smell of sweat
and unpillowed tears.
They say she kills
for fun. In lust for blood she
leaves a trace of death, a carcassed
fright in crimson snow – but yet
she’s just another caring mother
a wolverine with cubs.
Hannah inspires us to write about tracks at toads. One of the things that is most inspiring is to pass fresh tracks of wolverine. An animal of many myths. Especially its lust for blood. Its a fairly large animal, and the tracks it make is very distinctive. I have once seen a wolverine on a mountainside far away, and it moved in a most efficient way through the deep snow.
February 26, 2016