The woods welcome me with a green hug, birdsong, and wildflowers. Grass sprouts like a million fountains, soft and generous, sprinkled with wild geraniums.
I take a step and a woodcock whistles up to the sky, orange, bronze, and as shiny as if its feathers are cut from metal.
The old Shagbark Hickory is sprouting leaves. I hold onto the scaly bark, one piece in each hand, and sway back and forth as the wind blows high above me, as if I were a newborn leaf too.