We are here waiting to blossom, as little buds needing to flower out of the mud and swamp of human machinations. The misery of war and politics thrive around us as endlessly as time does for Vladimir and Estragon in Waiting for Godot.
The spring beauty wakens our hearts, yet we so easily forget the eternal guru of knowledge as we follow the ephemeral. We are never satisfied with the gift of life, as we struggle against ourselves causing all realms of trouble.
