It caught my eye twirling on its downward ride. Standing on a balcony on the east side of town, I saw them coming. Heading west by car the air was thick as they dodged semi-trucks, pattered sidewalks, and gleefully blew across parking lots by storm.
A text from the Neighbor with news – maple helicopters were falling. And indeed they are. On Walkabout, laden whirlwinds delightedly scampered past as gusty breezes arranged others in swirls on the street – blanketing lawn and garden.
Holding on for what seemed forever, they are off. Some will find good ground, others will fly until they cannot. All seek freedom.
Another year, another season, another seed. Onward.
Shouldn't...but Do 
Leave a Reply