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 Interspersed, occasionally, with more recent, hitherto unpublished pieces.
Nothing particularly exciting but definitely it is enticing to enter a winter-weary wood where snow and ice are steadily disintegrating into slush and muck, just for the pleasure of witnessing that inexorable, seasonal change.
In those hidden valleys where spring sun does not penetrate the pace is slow, the snow piled high the frozen trails of icy rot challenging to the venturing foot. It is the changed sounds of returned bird life; goldfinches slipping through bare branches trilling, that so transfixes us.
The sight of green, luminescent fungi climbing the bark of a tree, the newly-released ferns, brightly vibrant the soft plush green of mosses, wild strawberry plants and grasses alive in the dark, wet soil of early spring.
The hoarse chorus of crows racketing above, the tapping of woodpeckers - all - the Pileated giant, the Hairy and the Downy, industriously oblivious, intent on their harvest. Their red caps, from size to size, fiercely drumming tree bark.
Spring's choreographed awakening includes the streams of madly rushing water, clattering and sparkling over the aggregation of winter-felled limbs, swelled by the melting snowpack.
And the delicate ballet of the Mourning Cloaks, those dainty winged wonders, swirling and twirling on the slightest of breezes, invested in their seasonal mating dance.
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