Surviving To Celebrate
by Odin Roark

How inviting the cold,
where snow and winter creatures
disturbed not the quiet and peace.

How easy it was for the lone survivor,
the one human left standing,
to enjoin the natural environment,
become one with all that was left.

He had learned. Invigorating.
He knew. Inspiring.
“I am,” he uttered to himself. Sublime.

Such was his fortune,
opting for fresh air over profit,
clean water, over polluted expediency,
escape over captivity.

Would that the species understood
that natures gifts need not be owned,
need not be exploited,
need not be captured or killed.

Now, as he remembered
humanity succumbing to power’s lust,
power’s lust infecting minions with despair,
despair reducing will to compliance,
and compliance rendering the species mute,
he gathered wood and built his fire.

Small were the flames,
just enough for food and warmth.
Enormous was his wilderness,
roots and winter berries a plenty.

Nature provided more
than he’d ever need.

From a branch high above,
the owl nodded.

From behind a tree,
the squirrel blinked.

From its cave,
the bear joined him.

Together,
they sat.
Man and beast,
reason and nature.
Life and living,
consciousness and conscience.

Such was the reward.

A gentle wind,
a few snowflakes aloft,
a sun about to set,
all was as intended…

a survival to celebrate.