Sunlight
          has just begun
                        to sift itself
                                through the branches,
when a sudden breath
                    of summer wind
                              sends dozens
                                        of maple trees’ whirligig seeds
                                                                into a microburst shower
                                   of flickering shadows
                                                       and glittering chartreuse twirls.
Compelled,
        I reach
               for a single spinning seed,
                 catch it
                           by one of its dragonfly wings,
                                           peel open its small sticky pod,
                                                   and smiling
                                                                press it
                                                                      to the tip of my nose.
        
                                 Never too old!

© by Joan Kantor.
Used here with the author's permission.