Nov 1, 2025
Freezing Moon
Through a windswept field, champagne powder blows. I walk on sculptured dunes toward the vacant road and pause to pick up a maple seed still attached to its wing.
There are no maples for miles. Maybe it was dropped by a sparrow flying home. Using the heel of my boot as a hoe, I scrape away a crust of ice and plant this seed under a thin layer of soil, so that come spring a tree might break from the ground . . . rising into the air out of which it fell, and on another night such as this will hold the moonlight in the snow on its branches. by Mark Thalman
