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.
The wild darling on the cusp of spring The crocus has found its way to the surface Having traveled over and over In the same track as its predecessors. The cold earth has found a softness, An opening. And the lush green breathes into me. The fragileness of new life. The sun breathes out energy. The seedlings desperately alchemize And rapidly transforms. Their ripe green petals mimicking grass Kiss and pepper the earth. I marvel at the emerald blades That try to camouflage into the lawn. They are hardy and make the perennial trip. They wake me from my winter slumber And remind me, even in the bitter harshness of cold and darkness, This too shall pass. And my heart leaps to join the beauty, To wear green and lie in the grass Warm to the touch from the golden sun. I touch the delicate petals And thank them for this yearly gentle reminder. A smile forms on my face. The mourning doves have returned this year. I wonder if the young couple will find a more hardier, sturdier nesting place. Nature is the greatest teacher.