The leaves are blossoming.
The time of lime green ripeness is here.
They cling onto the branches,
Their tips winnowing in the gentle breeze.
The few leaves which cling no longer,
Rustle on the floor
And are swept away at dusk.
The branches continue to shake
And the leaves, in their vitality and freshness,
Partake in the knowing, changing course.
The nest (or what was left of its twigs)
Lay scattered across the floor,
Having been given the sole power of rebirth.
As I gazed at nature now before me,
The mutilated motionless stirred
And nature began to sparkle and dazzle once again;
(like a spring, brewing- ready to burst forth;
Its bubbles shimmering on the surface).
Nature started ticking again.
And the spirit in the woods came alive.