She pussyfooted down the branch,
her twitch of tail a cadence of caution.
Inch by inch, she stretched herself out,
rotund tummy unrolling, still stout,
but now long and wide - a flurry of fur
plushing the pine, lulling the tree into slumbrous
motion, rocking up and down, blurring
the green with gray on this sunlit day
To sleep in sun, to smooth the raspy edges
and loosen limbs unleafed and furled tight
like fiddlehead ferns and sleeping trees.
To heed spring’s call, and loll between leaf and sky should, and always shall be, enough for me.