Small buds ripen and slowly green leaves emerge.
No one understands the magic—no one thinks about it.
The sun’s halo bounces off their shiny surfaces until tiny cracks begin to form.
Slowly, their brightness fades into a past summer day and only brown remains.
Fragile surfaces—Helios burns holes in them and they crumble at the slightest touch.

The wind blows around me—blows through me.
Taking my memories and my past.
It takes my childhood as it surrounds me.
My thoughts and feelings and ideals leave me.
I see them on the Earth’s breath.

Struggling and finally breaking through, the butterfly leaves its past far behind.
Not any older—only different.
It needs its freedom—it does not know that in two days it shall die.

Application accepted—bags all packed—I leave my home without looking back.
A new life is what I need—unfettered—room to breathe.
I am older—so of course I am wiser.

Landing on the ground without the slightest grace—the little bird knows it is a disgrace.
Suddenly its mother, its savior, swoops it up and puts it back in the nest.
She is not mad.
As she pushes her baby out again, the little bird wonders why she looks a tiny bit sad.

No longer a child and not an adult, I sit and I write and wonder what it’s all about.
We’re all naïve—no matter the age—no matter the genus—no matter the species.
We all know nothing until it is too late—our books are all empty—
Perhaps one day we will wake.

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