Surely the way you wove that last path proves
to the deities you could have made us
in seven days or less! That filial
yellow leaf, autumn splash on our earth, red
eyed Lord of maple trees and eccentric
vines, do they not argue in favor of
a Brahma, an Allah, or Great Spirit?
Come idols, admit you’ve made an error!
The folly is not in confessing; it’s
denying this deluge of tree-babies
crawling the way for us, one tenuous
knee after another, green infant to
crimson teen to golden adult, leading
onward, knowing the others will follow.
Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt
Copyright October 16, 2008