The birds are singing to one another now,
They do not sing to us,
But we are listening.
New buds are growing slowly on the ends of branches,
Displacing ever so slightly the air around them,
Coming to our ears as a low hum,
And we wonder:
To how many monsoons could this movement be traced
Many years from now?
The water runs slowly but steadily from the melting patches of ice and snow,
Carrying with it
Matter in decay and colonies of microscopic life that have grown and died,
Food and hydration for the next generations,
One in the same flow.
We breathe,
In and out and…
Slowly…
A smile;
We are happy,
We are…
Alive.
The process has begun.
The world begins
To awaken once more,
Eyes opening to
Blue skies;
Distant clouds gather but
For now there is sun.
In bloom,
The world waits
Patiently
For you.
Objects, and the Distance Between Them 
may i share on a poetry site of mine? If you say no, I’ll just ignore your wishes. 😉 Jk. Cheers.
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Of course you may share. You are like a brother, Grumpy. I am always happy to share and appreciative of the support you provide to me and to the world in your words and in your actions. 💙
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