All at once I saw what looked like a Martian spaceship whirling towards me in the air. It flashed borrowed light like a propeller. Its forward motion greatly outran its fall. As I watched, transfixed, it rose, just before it would have touched a thistle, and hovered pirouetting in one spot, then twirled on and finally came to rest. I found it in the grass; it was a maple key, a single winged seed from a pair.
Hullo.
I threw it into the wind and it flew off again, bristling with animate purpose, not like a thing dropped or windblown…
O maple key, I thought, I must confess I thought, o welcome, cheers.
And the bell under my ribs rang a true note, a flourish as of blended horns, clarion, sweet, and making a long dim sense I will try at length to explain. Flung is too harsh a word for the rush of the world. Blown is more like it, but blown by a generous, unending breath. That breath never ceases to kindle, exuberant, abandoned; frayed splinters spatter in every direction and burgeon into flame. And now when I sway to a fitful wind, alone and listing, I will think, maple key. When I shake your hand or meet your eyes I will think, two maple keys. If I am a maple key falling, at least I can twirl…
…Squeak into a gap in the soil, turn, and unlock- more than a maple- a universe.
~Annie Dillard from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
The set seed and the first bulbs showing.
The silence that brings the deer.
The trees are full of handles and hinges;
you can make out keyholes, latches in the leaves.
Buds tick and crack in the sun, break open
slowly in a spur of green.
*
That woody clack of antlers.
In yellow and red, the many griefs of autumn.
The dawn light through amber leaves
and the trees are lanterned, blown
the next day to empty stars.
Smoke in the air; the air, turning.
*
Under a sky of stone and pink
faring in from the north and promising snow:
the blackbird.
In his beak, a victory of worms.
The winged seed of the maple,
the lost keys under the ash.
~Robin Robertson from “Finding the Keys”
I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven…
Matthew 16:19
Let us seek words as plentiful
as those keys that twirl from the maple branch —
Words once freed, spoken and blown by a generous breath,
ready to unlatch life’s secrets
and push ajar the doors of heavy hearts.
May we somehow use
the Word we have been given
to open up just enough
to listen,
to unlock horns,
and welcome what grace may fall
into our empty and longing arms.
I am a helicopter child
Whirling, swirling, sailing
Into the wide unknown
Dancing, arcing
Into the future.
Wind carry me upward
Wind blow me onward
Wind sail me outward.
O The great tree my mother
The green tree my father:
Send me into the world
To plant new hope
To grow new dreams.
Wind carry me upward
Wind blow me onward
Wind sail me outward.
I was born in high branches
Swaying, singing, growing
Now I seek a new home
Earth to welcome me
Soil to feed me
I am tomorrow.
Wind carry me upward
Wind blow me onward
Wind sail me outward.
I am tomorrow.
~Marion Saunderson
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