Scattered across the yard in large numbers,
scales open and seedless,
cast off from high branches,
and dropped to earth,
their prehistoric commands completed.
Grounded pine
cones wobble as they roll
across the fall’s earthen floors,
a crop for woodpeckers and squirrels,
a reminder of a tree’s past decade,
fallen nurseries of seeds dispersed,
still littering as seasons pass.
Stumbling
blocks for feet set forward to clear
a footpath besieged
with
large, broken branches,
and
split or uprooted trees,
fallen remnants of winter storms and
March winds.
A fog of
heavy, green pollen fills the air,
obscures the footpath, littered with
the
rejected and discarded,
the damaged and broken
bygones.
Too many to stack neatly in a pile,
Too thick to walk through and ignore,
Too heavy to push aside and move on.
The annual shedding of old things
to make room for the new
becomes thunderous
as the path becomes longer.
©cmheuer, 5/2022
