The mice are hibernating

And so are the boys.

No birds to catch,

And the lull of winter,

A snatch of dreams,

Days end fast.

Do they look forward,

Like we do?

Twelfth day, twelfth night,

A turning light of anticipation,

A transition to being awake,

Awakened roots of trees,

Preparing for spring,

The return to living.

Yet, for the barn cats,

A return to killing.