Spring Debris

As I look out the window on Fall and notice all the leaves that fell, I envision something comparable in Spring that I saw, as this poem notes.

Spring Debris

Wind sweeps fruit tree petals

into cordons where a sidewalk meets

grass like onlookers keen to see

a parade. Winged elm pips drift in;

fallen hulls shove to the front;

cottonwood fluff frustrates the view

of those already grounded. Seeds

and florets jockey for the runway's 

edge. A storm-march rudely scatters

the spectators, and thunder cracks

their dream. In time, the party tossed

by the rain breeches the rolling hillside.

"Weeds not trees,"

              grouse the park groundskeepers.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor