Some time between spring and summer, the birds find their way between the branches of the blossomed trees for the damp shade of the dewed leaves that have been yearning and loathing the heat of the sun all at once. And while they gently flutter their wings, they bring upon the scented breeze of the fading spring and the dry glitter of the summer’s birth. As I watch, smell, listen to the melody of it all, I halt to wonder whether all this order just merely happens. Is it love that has found its way through the wings of the birds, the petals of the flowers, the dew of the leaves, the broken, tapered branches of the trees, or is it just a mere coincidence that has been brought upon by Mother Nature. And even though I’d like to believe in the majesty of love, I hush the thought in my head, as I have witnessed so much pain caused by love that it can not be possible that love can give rise to something so beautiful.