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HONEY PAW
and LIGHTFOOT
by JONATHAN LONDON
Illustrated by JON VAN ZYLE
Contents
In the bushy willow bottomland
Honey Paw ambled,
stopped, sniffed.
On a rock spine, against sky,
stood Old Man of the Mountains.
Honey Paw watched as Old Man
scrambled down the rock slide.
The closer he came
the bigger he looked.
It was June, the mating moon of grizzlies,
and that night, under stars,
the two great bears became a pair.
Over the next days,
they browsed together,
tossed their great heads,
and chased each other.
But one morning Honey Paw
rambled on, hungry for berries,
and Old Man went his own way
up in the mountains.
All summer, Honey Paw read the wind
and the mysteries of the rivers, seeking food.
And in the fall she ate to get fat for winter.
Days grew short, nights grew long.
Honey Paw sensed the snows rolling in.
She dug a den on a slope
away from the wind.
Made a bed of bear grass,
moss, and boughs of young fir.
Finished, just in time.
For soon the big snows came.
Then Honey Paw snuggled warm in her soft bed,
and snored in a sleep so deep—
her heartbeat so slow—
you might think she’d sleep forever.
Moons passed. Drifts piled.
Finally, in the heart of winter
Lightfoot was born.
Helpless, almost hairless, blind,
no bigger than a hamster.
He nursed in the deep dark
warmth of his mother’s den.
Come spring, two moons later,
Honey Paw and Lightfoot awoke.
Lightfoot bumbled out,
blinking in the sunshine,
a furry ball of hunger.
He followed
as his mother hunted and grazed
and dug for roots,
showing her cub good foods to eat.
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