Already the logged woods are beginning to heal.
Brambles and ferns,
the place where the bear runs,
felled trees and branches left behind
becoming earth.
Zinnia does that Lab dance through the muddy pond, kicking up her heels and tossing her head.
She comes out a black and white cookie,
rolling in last years leaves,
groaning in pure pleasure.
Mosquitos sing and sometimes sting,
gathering blood for their babies.
I only have eyes for mushrooms, which blinds me to all the other wonders of the woods.
But it is their season.
I seek mushrooms, as mosquitos gather blood and Zinnia rolls in mud.
