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Maple

 Setting the record straight, maple trees have no navel, what people quaintly call a belly button. Navels stand as a human pressure point indicating birthing process and the thought of antecedents. Such reflects an overweening concern with where time goes, if it exists at all. In contrast, maples simply startle. They proclaim the news and nuance of downtown wonderful. Well-prognosticated to beam colours at certain times, maples like to dash. Some breeds act like weeds, so humanly unproductive. No need to worry that. The factory system requires effort. The bugs know. So do the rocks amidst the striving roots. Chlorophyll must go until chlorophyll must be gone. The leaves then return to hidden colour, a meaning in tight sentencing. By then, Spring and Summer have finished beaming, and Autumn trolls the designate in language much like Keats' eye or any other sweep of field. Useful bell tones, utter sky, and scanning forward plans the document in the brightest. Let your navel contemplate that.


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