Lost and found is my eureka! blog, my rediscovery of my short fiction and poetry submissions published in literary magazines and university literary journals some decades ago. Interspersed, occasionally, with more recent, hitherto unpublished pieces.
This morning's languid snowfall has left a lightly-substantial coverlet over our rapidly-depleting snowpack plagued by the icing effect of warmer spring-precipitated temperatures and a more assertive sun.
There is a hushed presence in the woods, the trees neatly washed and limned with white plush. Even the creek, with its newly-released lid of ice raises but a muffled tinkle as it rushes headstrong, downstream.
The sky this day reflects the scene below, brightly overcast, the very shade of the snow those clouds have released in their spirit of seasonal generosity. Not even a murmur of wind as we tread those silent pathways through the wooded ravine.
Trails left by rabbit, pheasant, grouse, squirrel and mice are clearly seen, patterning the new snow. Soon enough, the rough caws of circulating crows, the soft ducky-peep of nuthatches and the near-distant puncture of woodpeckers enliven the air.
Together, we have foiled nature in one small, local way, for this was one of those rare years with scant conifer seeds and cones, leaving winter birds and small mammals one less food resource. Each day we distribute
nuts and seeds in the ravine, in cracks and spaces in bark and the cleft of branches as we make our daily rounds, squirrels eager to take our tribute to their will to survive rough seasons. Now they clamber like
clever acrobats, swinging from branch to branch, tree to ground in height-defying boldness; saucily switch tails, twisting around tree trunks in a frenzy of seasonal mating.
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