at first
the Camilla tree
you never noticed blooming
sheds its leaves in a wind that springs back into a pre-pubescent winter
you enjoy the moment as if it never happened before
but you let it go
even if it never happens again
if there is a next time
you ignore it
almost incapable of seeing it
fixated on
ambition
desire
regret
panic
and many other things that are not falling blossoms
but it will bloom again
and you will slow down
contemplate
over-intellectualize it
and turn it in to a bad poem
and
if you are lucky
blossoming Camilla
wind
raining delicate pink
could be spring