Spring Ceremony

White petals perfume the path
of any bride
who might walk the soft green labyrinth
around the old magnolia tree.
Setting sun gilds
a thrush in throaty warble
and the rooster pheasant struts
his iridescent stuff,
ready for his vows.

Seated on this velvet pew,
I warm the still-cool earth
as confetti
drifts soundlessly to celebrate
this flowered-but-leafless marriage
of time and temperature
that defies natural laws
and some manmade.

Trumpet of cardinal,
flute of robin,
processional in perfect pitch--
I offer up my thankfulness
for the invitation to this ceremony
which arrived in its furry envelope
just days
after the last petals had fallen.