Blossom

Frozen

in place for a while longer while seagulls crack open clams perfectly chilled and salted just so

Still

but for the gentle vibrations and storm-tossed shakes of the brittle branch stretching over a sleeping spirea

Warmed

from mid-day to near dusk when the sun beats down between the solid roof and the weak limbs of the wild cherry

Fuzzy

with frail, reddish skin unfolding, haltingly, out of the furious transmission of energy and elements invisible to the dull senses of the ravenous Bluejay perched nearby

Confident

that it will one day, very soon, add to a harmony of shining white and happy pale-green rustling in a conical space between the sea and the field, shading blushing iris, dormant weigela, wholesome boxwood and opulent drift rose

Resigned

to whither and fade before surrounding cousins, transforming not into fruit but merely fibrous sprigs too soon to lay dry and dusty alongside tired daffodils

Hidden

away as the season comes alive

Forgotten

until the next new birth