The sprightly spring morning
brings a fresh, cool swirl of life
to the patterns of scattered catkins
on my back patio world.

The catkins on my patio…

I start to see
a map
laid out for me…

Standing in the doorway,
of my Time, not quite stepping out,
the wind begins to blow,
softly, yet strongly.

Newly dropped catkins move
to an inner beat…an aged beat,
any-nature’s song, a rock can drum
with its solid life. Some lucky
catkins flow and swivel, dancing
across the smoothness
of concretes surface, concentrated
into freedom, sharing pollen kisses,
as they breeze through
the man-made obstruction.

But, there is much more
to gaining a path to the light,
there is injustice, in the form
of old cobwebs, still sticky enough
to impede, grab, and in their greed,
collect the seeded catkins,
into dried out piles of dreams,
spent straining at bonds
not of their own making.

Sometimes there is a fork
of wind, jostling ensues, wisps
of spent life, are bumped
into a path of nightmare obstacles,
within the inequality of gusty torment.
A kitten, attacks a bit of fluff,
flips it into the gossamer air,
where it falls
behind its buried fellows,
forever hidden.

The saddest catkins of all
end up in the corners of the patio,
in no-land's man, where there is
dim light, amd no breeze left, no…escape.
Where the webs of deceit
show no mercy, they cling
and change beauty into
ordure. And I sigh,
as I see Humankind
in Natures Life,
again.

Erin Moen
4/1/03

Copyright 2003 ©