Why do we only speak of nature
When trees bloom
Not when buds point the sky?
I admire the white color
Patterns painted
Of branches and leaves frozen
A fossil of recent past.
Why is winter seen as death
And spring as life
When leaves are given to soil?
I feel the vibrant spirit
Mushrooms spotted
Small treasures in sparkly powder
Found beauty in colorless light.
Fingers extended
Splattered in its space
Vulnerability
Branches hang proud
Skeletons or veins?
Raw emotion felt
My heart flutters
Your eyes hang loosely
Caught in positive and
Negative space
Notice leaves frozen in ice
Water droplets on branches
It’s the small observations
That feed a curious mind