Ode to a Seedhead

Oh beautiful Queen Anne’s Lace seedpod!

Each little flower in your intricate doily becomes a fuzzy football-shaped and colored seed.

And each little grouping of seeds sprouting from green fingers folds in on itself as if to create a secret bed for an autumn fairy.

You once looked so light and heavenly, now you appear rich, heavy, and of the earth.

Soon your seeds will mature and you will send them out to scatter beauty wherever they land.

And yet you will still be beautiful.

You will stand in winter’s sun a dried and seedless sculpture — your last offering to the world.