The Whirling Dervish Of The Middle Country...
They bide their time all the long Winter,
Finally dry enough to fly as Spring renews the Earth.
At some point,
The dry and dead stem snaps and releases,
And the mother tree is left,
Towering immobile above the soil.
If the only moment a plant knows in its long life is as a seed,
These must be among the most graceful.
Spinning,
Whirling,
Twirling.
They settle softly to their bed of chance.
Maple seeds are a wonder of nature.
A single-bladed helicopter,
They have been toys for children as long as children could see them flying.
I wonder if Igor Sikhorsky was a maple-seed child?
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 07/06/2018