There is green –
and then there are the delicate,
curled chartreuse ribs
of a fern frond
as sunlight trips fantastic
through the rhythm and hum
of late afternoon,
that hour when the day
begins gathering its scattered moments,
folding them into the long shadows
of approaching night.
Meanwhile,
peach-colored bells
fall from angel-trumpet trees,
and hibiscus blossoms
twist themselves closed,
gathering in
their once-riotous display.
They do not wonder
whether anyone noticed,
whether enough eyes
have lingered upon
their color,
their texture,
their brief extravagance.
Nor do they mourn
the passing of their beauty.
Tomorrow,
another unfolding,
another exuberant offering
to the light.
No applause required.