This poem seems to be about beavers,
But it's actually about happiness.
And the way that beavers on their riverbanks in the light of first morning look like they're about to burst into song.
So,
Diva.
In the first light of morning on their riverbanks,
Beavers oil their thick fur in the sunshine.
Small paws scoop amber balm from glands in their tails.
They massage it into underarms,
Chest and over the soft curve of belly.
They are not just grooming.
They are sealing their intention for the day,
To float.
And be at ease with the river's flow.
See them now in the shallows,
A family hodl.
A communal hub of safety.
Noses to necks,
Teeth acting as gentle combs,
Nibbling the places they can't reach themselves.
Each stroke says You are worth tending.
You are meant for the deep.
They don't fret about the dam that needs to be built or where spring will take them.
They simply lie on their backs and turn their bellies to the heat.
If you want their lives to be wisdom for yours.
You might ask yourself this.
In what ways do I too let life love me?