All the blooms have paid their visit.
They fulfilled their roles to completion.
Now green leaves of every hue remain on the branches.

All the trees marinate and meld into just a tree
Where the blooms easily identified the species.

Now they are a forest of trees
Indistinguishable to the undiscerning eye.
One lone red maple stands out from the rest.

Does the species of tree matter to the nesting bird
Tending to their fragile, precious young?

Maybe.
Sturdy, tall, with camouflaged branches
They call home.

I call it nature’s greenery.