I have often found that

serendipity

is fleeting

(or perhaps even false).

One might say they have stumbled upon a little oasis

dotted with flowers and interspersed with

birdsongs

but even then can

mundane cacophony be heard,

(i.e., cars and people),

and those are all significantly louder than a

serene wind.

They were probably looking for it, anyway,

which ruins the sentiment.

it’s deciduous,

ephemeral,

false.

I once went to try and find something

serendipitous

(which contradicts the very nature of it all, but –

no matter)

and I couldn’t find it by listening to the birds

or gazing upon the trees —

they’re everywhere.

but I did find a sock,

draped neatly over a tree branch.

and it was frayed and sordid,

but I most certainly did not expect it to be there.

and perhaps it was not too beautiful,

but it gave off an essence of tranquility,

of mystery,

that someone was there once before me.

once, I saw a contest, run by the dictionary

and it was to take a picture that defined a word.

and so someone submitted one and it was a little flower,

growing in concrete and they called it:

serendipity

and if I’d taken a picture of a ragged sock in a tree

and defined it like so

I doubt I would have won anything

but still,

I found a tattered sock,

placed in a tree,

and called it serendipitous.

It was surely unexpected.