The maple seed hangs tight against the wind

But a gust comes through and it can hold no longer

It flies, dancing and twirling on the breeze

Pirouetting over fields and forests

Then lands, gracelessly, in the dirt

I, too, cling to familiar things

Afraid of what lies beyond what I know

I would like to dance in the clouds

To savor my time in the sun

But not to crash to the ground once I’m done