Breeches, Beeches, Bryophytes

In the VA woods that line the Potomac the trees tower over ravines carved by steams that hold only lazy water today. Children happily ensconced in the streambed, ticking from schist to gniess while wildflowers drink in the early spring sun that feeds the forest floor with the canopy in absence. Still a distance from the George Washington Parkway, it is quiet enough to hear bird calls. Cardinals everywhere, and others, seem to define space with echoing metallic chits and tin pipes and syrupy splattering twirs. I recognize a call I haven't heard for years, but have no idea what bird is its source. I notice a reddish fallen tree webbed with tiny fractures, in such a state of decay it barely holds its shape.