Between 85% and 95% of the dry weight of wood comes from photosynthesis, from sunlight and carbon dioxide.
The first two blows
bounce back
as if nothing's happened
but the third —
if they are all in line,
and after years
of this, they are:
one first on the far side,
then one on the near,
and, the third, dead center —
snaps it open
with a tearing pop
to that clear, bright, sweet-
smelling grain
that has not seen
light and air since it was air
and light.
First Frost Shadow
The first sun strikes the maple’s top
then, as the sun clears the ridge, slides down
the frosted leaves and sets them sailing –
first by tens and then by hundreds –
softly across the still-silvered lawn.
Slowly, the air fills with the rustle
of their descent.
The air is still, so still
each leaf steers its own path,
gliding stem up, smoothly, unless
it encounters other leaves and jars
them free to tumble gently
till they right themselves
to settle in a yellow shadow
of the yellow maple.