It was early spring, and on the mountaintops only the thinnest whispers of that jubilant choir could be heard.
I was walking through Craggy Gardens, from the picnic area to the overlook, to a place I had been before, but a long time hence.
I felt a deep yearning for the forest. For something that was essential to my human experience and at the same time utterly elusive, like a shadow play cast upon the ground. The story being told was mine, and yet I could not decipher the meaning.
A raven soared above the tangle of branches.
Her earthen voice broke the still air.
Her shadow grazed the Spring Beauties, little pink blossoms just open on the dark ground.
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