I left my two little cubs for a few hours. He was still wearing the dinosaur hat. They were both sleeping. face down. just could see her pink flower slippers free from the blankets that covered the rest of her. Two little mounds lifting and falling ever so slightly, with each breath.

I took in that very same air, and I felt it fill up my whole body as I picked up my enormous mommy bag and then emptied its contents on to the table. I exhaled everything, all of it. The stuff and the air. It was all gone for a moment. I picked up a small notebook, a pen, and a bus ticket.

I lied about where I was going. I felt like I had to, life had become so concrete. I was forever constructing and re-constructing schedules, checking and ticking off milestones. Preparing food. Clearing poop. The time to dawdle and putter, and think about life all the while, was something I could do without putting anyone else out. Something I did without anyone else knowing. I was sneaking. The craving was still there but it had been so long.

I walked out the door, down the stairs, opened the door and inhaled the sun. My shoulders had been held so tight on top of my back, frozen there for almost two years. How could the physical manifestation of my new responsibilities be so literal? I defrosted, held it all in, savored it, allowed it to carry me. I joined the crowds on the sidewalk, moving quickly past. I was flying a few inches above the self I had grown to be. I could move quickly and easily with the stream of motion around me. I had about five hours. maybe six.

The first hour went like this. It was a full, fat hour, of perceiving. Everyone seemed to be directly connected to me. He looked exactly like my brother. She winked at me acknowledging the man in the hat, who just nearly missed the pile of dog shit in his hurry. The one-sided cell phone conversation behind me was an exact replica of the one Mark had with his mom last night. All these things were not mere coincidences. Everything was a sign that I belonged here, alone in the world. I was out of my gourd. I got off the bus to be among my people. In front of me, there were two sets of double doors, and in between those, an elevator. Directly behind me was a café. There are distractions all around.

A woman just entered and said, “two tickets to the Cubs game today – 4th row, for free.” The cubs are playing the Indians. This is not about that. It is about my little cubs sleeping, my husband working in the land of the Indians. It is baseball season. It is about winter ending and spring coming. It is about that bridge between. How those two ideas are connected. Hibernation is over, it is time to wake up.

Julie finally couldn’t take it anymore – it had been years since we had cable. I was home that day waiting for the guy to arrive, and connect us. He was early. He must have known it had been too long for us. It was the part of his job that he liked. Reuniting people with the world of tv. He was like a missionary. He knew I wouldn’t complain, about anything. He would be bringing the world of fantasy, of education, of theatre, of commentary, of celebration, of contemplation, into our home. How could we have gone so long without the box of light? He hooked us up and then left me sitting there for hours all day, all night. It must have made his day. I was living in the Dark ages and now those things whose existence I had heard murmurs of everyday, were converted from shadows to bright backlit color. I was brought into the light. Or at least in front of it. I lit a cigarette.

The ice age is over. The bridge that could have been crossed has melted; while we were hibernating. The Indians will beat the cubs. They were around to walk the bridge. They were awake during the cold. They bundled up and warmed their babies, and walked the ice bridge. So, for those of us afraid to go out in the winter – those of us who can’t manage the cold with our cubbies –those of us who finally wake up with the sun and the heat, as the bridge is melting – we still need to cross, or at least know there is a way to cross.

It’s about getting out of the winter – getting out of hibernation, me and my cubs. We are solitary, we walk slow and are downward facing. We leave tracks, but they are false tracks, so if you are following us, we might be behind you.

This crossing of land, which we do with two feet --one in front of the other -- wasn’t always so. It used to be the birds, we would fly, we were light. Now we are burdened. we are isolated. It is about something that I saw. They tumbled over each other. They rough and tumbled. They giggled. They crawled toward me for food, for warmth, for comfort, for attention. My two cubs. 10 months old. We cannot just get up and go. If we do we have to choose times that are less populated. We see the sun rise, we see the sun set. I see them crying and laughing. I am their shelter. I am their world. We do not fly. We crawl. We inhabit the land, and we need to sleep. We need to reserve our energy. We wait for 6 months. Moving little. Not completely hibernating, but desiring sleep so badly it’s like sleeping itself. It is all I think about it. It is an obsession. It is because of the cold. It is because there are three of us. It is because I only have two arms.