Tell No One

The spring forest thrums and vibrates
with the boisterous energy of life
renewed, a rain-sodden landscape
of droplet-bedecked vegetation
dripping steadily upon a forest floor
resembling a swamp cradling fallen
limbs and tree trunks of years past
among the generations of leaf mass
mulching the ground enriching the
soil cradling newly emerged bracken.
Not all is graceful ferns for this is
the time of woodland violets in bloom
of trilliums and Jack-in-the-Pulpits
and Lilies-of-the-Valley vying with
trout lilies and partrideberry for room
to flaunt their conceited pride of place.
When sun filters through the tree
canopy it turns the droplets into
scintillating diamonds, the bright
flowerheads into precious gems, the
entire forest gleaming and beaming
its pride in self, nature's sublime
expression of divine artistry reborn.