It was the sunlight slanting through the fiery-hued lace-leaf maple tree that caught my eye and drew me outside. The air was cool as the sun began its disappearing act. I was first focused on the copper and red leaves of this little tree, which has steadily expanded its horizontal spread over the past twenty years. For all the heated shades, and the way the colors bled from one into another, there was a bright secret suddenly illuminated by the fading sunlight.
A few pairs of maple seeds – the helicopters of our youthful springs – hung behind the curtain of leaves. I recall them mostly from the spring, and the way they fell from the two big maples trees outside the front of my childhood home. You could also split them apart, then split the base open and use the sticky white sap to stick it on the tip of your nose – hence the other name we used for them – Pinocchios.
These dried and brown versions, lit by the sun and revealed only through a closer inspection, reminded me how spring is still around, and present in the decay of fall and winter. It’s just slumbering and waiting until the sun starts to linger again.
