ordered and sleeping
waiting in a pod
a pod like two hands cupped together
made of weathered barn wood
facing the wind.
Wind teases out the lightly knitted fluff
unravelling as they lift and float
like woodland pixies
carrying their flame seed
spreading the kernel of life.
I pick one up like a daddy long legs
and settle it in the palm of my hand.
The fluff is soft as wisps on a newborn’s crown
and the seed is marked intricately as a spider’s back.
I set it free with my breath.
As it lofts and drifts across the creek,
I set to dreaming
dreaming of this country life
with time for an herb garden, apple trees, and pumpkin pies.
Time to watch fox pups and spotted fawns and bright full moons
and time to walk along the creek picking cattails and milkweed.