I’m a new man; again. I’m waking up, working to understand how my predecessor lived. I ache and feel weak from birth. I could sleep for a month, if I wasn’t so anxious to get out and stretch my legs. I’m hopeful and a little hungry. I feel fresh, like a snake must feel after it sheds skin; sun warming guts through newly dried skin, crisp, tight and fresh. I wonder if an old giant of a bear remembers his summers or if he just comes out of the cave from his slumber with the whole world feeling warmly familiar and coolly new at the same time. I imagine his first deep lung filling breaths as he scans the trees and sloping ground outside his cave. His ears prick up at the sound of water and his mouth waters as he can almost taste the twisting flesh of a big fish pulled from the rushing water, ice cold. Is he the same bear as the year before or has he changed somehow during all the stillness and solitude of his winter cave? Does he remember the year before or does he just begin again, starting over with vigor, running down the slope he knows so well and cares not how. I’m still stiff with sleep, lingering in joints as a need to stretch, and in the connection of my thoughts as a need to walk the edge of my map; tasting big ideas again.