The birds know the secret
That I am just learning.

That nature in her season is always right,
That every act of being,
Whether understood or on time,
Is just as it should be.

The impatient budding,
Pushing against stiff gray shells.
The exuberant bloom,
Fiery, sure confident with ecstasy.
The elegant last ember, final defiant and glorious stand against forgetting.

And the long wait for the now.