Today is the day

Swainson’s Thrush birds,
Hiding in the spicy brown trees.
Up high, are they, in the lush green sea.
It’s cosy in the fluffy sea, not too adventurous, just enough.
They are waiting.
Days pass, months pass, still, nothing too adventurous,
Nothing more than a nice juicy worm.
Then the day comes, that day,
The flowers bloom, but they smell nicer, more beautiful.
The male birds sing, but louder.
The air is fresh, only a spot fresher.
Waterfalls fall, a little quicker.
The wind hustles the eucalyptus leaves, vigorously, but it is warm.
Today is the day, of hope, of wonder, of adventure.
Up high, in the sea of lush green, are two eggs.
Although, now they're birds.
Down low, at the sea of spice, there is a little speck.
Being planted by a little girl.
Today is the day.