They just know how to

Where do these birds fly to

from these muted asphalt winters

bathed in the news of the numbing cold?

Not tiptoe on the frozen lakefloor anymore.

With an intuitive meta level weather channel

they plan their commute where the

warm water meets the sunny shores 

full of sunbathers soaking in solar serum

And  meet many of their own :

gypsies from another home

nesting on another tree until another clock

tells them it’s time to go back.

How do they know when we don’t 

what routes to take despite the odds to the unknown?

But they don’t have a mechanism for complaint; 

Wise beings full of acceptance of what’s out there.

Do the stars shiver in cold loneliness 

guiding us for millennia witness to 

all of our follies and achievements?

They were there for the three wise men

faithful joyful the magi walking towards the manger and

stand guard over us. Are they immune to their solitude?

But they don’t have a mechanism for ennui.

They’ve always waited and will  forever.

How do the clouds know which shape to take

And when is  the best time to change color

and wear a different face?

How do they know when to kiss the rain

and when to give in to a raging  storm

wanting to upset all routines?

But they have no mechanism for frustration.

They just know how to deal with all the realities.

How does the tree keep looking at the heavens

from the same spot not wanting to trade places

with another when the going gets rough?

How does it put up with all the battery of the storms

and the lashing of the blizzard winds

and yet flowers in full majesty?

But it has no mechanism for rancour.

It knows to think beyond itself and live for us.