It had been crushed by a closing door some time ago. Now it was stuck to the inside of the door frame with its bright red belly facing up, as if it were sunning itself.

It’s a pattern easily found in nature, in rippled water and sliced tree trunks.

I swiftly merged onto the highway like a blood cell exiting a vein for an artery.

Spring is the season of birth and the soil is where it starts.

I nudged it with my foot and could feel the weight of its innards shift around inside.

Loss is a facilitator of gratitude.

Had it not been preserved and presented to the viewer as a single static image, the moment might have been overlooked.