Unlike the acorn that just plops to the ground
the maple bursts of whirlygigs,
usually in conjoined pairs,
twirl to the ground like Sufi dancers
when released from their high branches

As a child I used to pick up these seeds
that fell on unfertile asphalt
and throw them up as high as I could
for another spin or two or three
before they came to rest

Like racing to the top of the hill
to catch the sunset’s beauty again
one more time before it sinks
into the dusk of the day

Or bringing in an iris bloom
knocked over by the rains
putting it in a vase on the table
to linger a little longer

Or running to the open garage
to give a kiss to my beloved
one more time or two or three
before he waves goodbye


Photo courtesy of Pixabay

17 thoughts on “Whirlygigs

  1. Dear LuAnne: Yes, to make the beauty of nature and love linger and last. Evocative poem. Hope you are continuing to heal. I am. Love and Kisses, Yvette


    Liked by 1 person

  2. “…twirl to the ground like Sufi dancers…” Oh, what a lovely, perfect picture that created in my mind! I never cease to be amazed by how one line in a poem can capture me so. Just lovely, LuAnne.

    Liked by 1 person

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