Cottonwood Imagination

I.
Her seeds float down from the canopy. Gives into grace and holds knowledge not quite hidden. Leap to the forest floor where the apathetic passersby dare to notice. Like debutantes their DNA is capable and untethered. Fly from mother to begin again. To sense the church of been.

In between pavement and moss, I bend over to touch the fibers. Absence matters on the skin. If you can’t feel something, does that mean it’s not there? Significant in its insignificance indeed. Attention proceeds.
As the hypnosis descends, I want to tip my head back and open my mouth to catch them. Like a child would at the fair. Individual bites of cotton candy or even snow. The way they float low. The way they let go. let go. and know.

Cottonwood seeds line the path where I walked this evening. Huddled beside the asphalt as if they knew that congregating in numbers would get them noticed. It worked.
 
II.
Cottonwood seeds line the path where I once walked and led me down Candyland Lane. Led me to summer days. Backyard barbeques. Laughing for the ones I love. Warmer temperatures warm the heart. warm the heat. sleeveless tops and flips that flop.

Strands fly far on the wind and propagate in moist and mud….dry river bottoms….and lake shallows. These water searchers and thirst perchers grow long hair like Goldilocks – but conditions need not be just right. As saplings guzzle, months and years pace by. Their stature stretch shade and bring respite in the heat waves and picnic saves. When met with fire imagination ignites and destroys summer’s rage.

Tea bark heals. a stew that speaks. and taps into the shallow roots to rouse the past and watch the future sleep. Possibility simmers and conjures a canoe to steer the stars. Pen its paper to always know the mate of mars.

Cellulose led me to imagine my future as the last sow from the last pitch finds my crown contained. Warmth of scalp and skull. Roots grab hold and nerves interfold. Knowledge syncs through veins of conscious. into the vane of cosmos…..jagged leaves clatter a ballad…..sing a vision….pluck a song of dreams.  
               
…..where cottonwoods imagine and I dive into the stream.