The Whistlepig

OK, so I've been super-duper-uper busy lately, and I don't mean just my usual "only 1 movie after the Knicks game before my pre-bed episodes of 30 Rock" either, I'm actually watching less than 2 hours of TV a day and everything. Crazy. Also, I'm coming down with a little something. I was feeling a little cold coming on, then I accidentally turned on my A/C during the night so I woke up frozen. Then I got out of the shower and immediately went into the snow. I never said I was smart. OK, I say that all the time, but I'm a stupid kind of smart, I think.

Anyway, I know I'm a little late for Groundhog Day, but I'm unvailing my latest Holiday-themed poem for you to all enjoy ahead of my annual Gala of the Groundhog occuring this weekend. Why am I doing this? Well because I don't have time for a real entry (let alone either of the beasts I spoke of in the last one) and I like to update regularly AND because of a little truth you might not be aware of -- every blogger tries to be funny enough for people to come back and maybe give his weary attempts at prose a whirl because he always thought he could make it as a poet and secretly hates his father for making him get into "computer stuff" in college.

So without further adon't...

The Whistlepig

Awake from the slumber, the first great sleep of his young life, the whistlepig rises.

Inside him, something yearns, a sensation that cannot be denied.

The den must be abandoned as he climbs out of one of his diligently burrowed tunnels into the open world.

He is sluggish but aware, there are those that would try to catch him, he must make it to surface.

The cold wind greets him more harshly then he would have thought, but he must persevere.

Never losing sight of his surroundings the majestic chuck compiles the fresh berries he can muster.

Masticating upon his ambrosial fortunes, he never looks down or loses his awareness.

As threats abound in the wondrous landscape so too does opportunity, and soon enough the land beaver will claim that which roused him.

Avoiding predation, a simple task, but his charge requires other dangers of the prodigious rodent.

His peers are brutal, nasty, aggressive; attempting to assert dominance to no avail.

Finally the exalted beast lays his eyes upon the ineluctable and is able to savor his corporeal destiny.

As the world was borne anew so it too falls, as the whistlepig retreats into the tangible earth beneath him once more, shadow and all.

Get it? Adon't? That's not a word! Genius!!!