This time of year,
the trees let fly all manner of seeds
to ensure their species survive and grow.
They release so many that there are plenty to spare;
the extras litter the ground, mess up decking,
and clog old-fashioned gutters.
Everyone you look there are catkins,
strings with thousands of tiny seeds that pop off
at the slightest provocation,
infinitesimally tiny denuded pine cones
and maple seedlings.
The messiness of maple seedlings I can forgive
because they spin to the ground with such energy,
delighting in their release to the waiting arms of spring.
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