They blew in the wind softly, this way,
that way. They were not disappointed 
when they saw the scissors, rather they 
braced themselves sweetly and shone 
with willingness. They were on tall and 
tender poles, with wheels of leaves. 
They were soft as the ears of kittens. 
They felt warm in recognition of the 
summer day. A dozen was plenty. I held 
them in my arms. They were silent the 
way the deepest water is silent. If they 
wondered where they were going they 
didn't show it, as they sprinkled freely 
over my shirt and my hands their 
precious gold dust.


 = Susannah Wood