I’d noticed that the plants had all changed.
They hadn’t been rearranged,
Just grown a bit, and some had died.
They acknowledged passing of another season
through the harmony they struck with this small world.

Their wisdom is soft, unspoken.
A world within a word not uttered.
A wisdom of action that comes from being.

I’d noticed the changing of the plants,
And in the act of noticing,
The soft, unspoken wisdom of the fact remained:
I had also changed.