Birds fly capriciously through great constraints to their tree houses –
Frivolous though extraordinary in an attempt to create a mid-air utopia
Upon the equally frivolous branches of a dried and dead oak tree, planted
Long ago. There is little remaining of the long ago, of the new sprout
That longed to dominate the very landscape with its radiant aura;
The aura of long ago, passed to the young through the day and night.
The tapestry Nature paints shows its colors even in the darkness of night,
When all of the day creatures have crept into their various houses
As the stars begin to shine overhead and infect the world with an aura
Of peace and contentment. Here, in the strange envelope of this isolated utopia,
There does exist Nature’s most amazing wonders, all of which sprout
From the amazing cavalcades of time in which their lives were planted.
Standing in the middle of this tapestry, its images are forever planted
Within the confines of the mind. Crickets are singing for the coming night
And with it, the beginning of a new era. Even the greatest ideas can sprout
In this place. Small animals scurrying to and fro to the safety of their houses
Can help to build within the mind a great, wonderful and indestructible utopia
That cannot be confined. All happiness is contained within its hidden aura.
As day breaks, and the sun signals the coming of the day with its own aura,
We discover so many wonders atop a great sea of flowers and green, planted
In a manner that can only be described as a blanket across a warming utopia.
The warmth radiates the world as the final remnants of the colder, darker night
Disappear. The very sun itself brightens with each passing moment and houses
Its own silent energy to increase the long ago passed radiance of the sprout.
An eagle screams overhead, flying to a nearby radiating tree. It begins to sprout
Its own young; Eggs at first, but they will someday bless the world with an aura
So powerful, it inspires the very soul. Even the the smallest of the eggs houses
The greatness of the beauty Nature has to offer. The eggs themselves were planted
With the love and devotion of a protective father, whose feathers of black as night
Would keep even the most vicious of prey from harming their airborne utopia.
Butterflies of orange, of blue, and of yellow, of green, like a brush in this utopia,
Paint even more color into this tapestry as they fly from stem to stern to sprout.
Their efforts of color are thwarted only by the inevitable coming of the night,
But the day always sees their triumphant return. Bees, content to spread the aura
Of those they happen upon, find themselves placated as the pollen planted
By their deeds brings to light the further radiant gleam that it silently houses.
And to think it all began from the seemingly silent utopia of springtime as it houses
Life, through the day, and through the night. It was the spring that first had planted
The sprout of the long ago, and its ever-warming, ever-passing, radiating aura.