Words are everywhere but in my fingertips today.

I am getting in touch with my inner, stubborn mute.

Tonight all I have is another scratchy verse for spring.

Little flowers on a forest floor:

Mother nature shapes secrets

with darkness, hunger, and cold

that struggle to life through mud and stone...

This verse means only that I staggered around trying to stay upright after avoiding little petals about a tenth of an inch wide and just an inch off the ground. The world's smallest flower grows in clusters as grass thickens toward summer.