Every day,

He wakes up,

Someone screams something

about being late.

A feeling of monotony.





He sits up in bed,

squinting his eyes,

the channel came in fuzzy.



He stumbles into the bathroom,

struggles with the faucet.

The hot water,

rains

down

like a tropical rain storm,

He comes out of the morning daze.



He rushes all morning,

getting dressed and

eating are all a blur,

only to get to school

thirty seconds too late,

and ill prepared for class.



If he can just make it to lunch,

if he can last until 2: 00,

the weekend's almost here.

Hang in there says his mother

Don't give up, don't let go

like the dying leaves of fall.



As he drives home,

He notices

winter's creeping nearer.

He misses the long warm days of summer.

He wishes he could fly away

like the birds migrating south.



Leaves cover,

the finish line of the day,

his driveway.



Squirrels scamper by

so busy

preparing for snow

not noticing anything,

especially the cars,

that take away their chance at winter.



He thinks

as he enters his house,

what if he could hibernate?



Once warm inside,

it starts to flurry

no big deal, he thinks,

But a big deal to the animals.

He turns the heat up a little.



Food stocked neatly in the cabinet

his refrigerator full

his dog scratches his bowl,

then hides a bone for later use.



He can see the world,

and the nature it's made up of.

He knows it's trying to tell him something,

but he doesn't know exactly what.