The Sugar Maple

“As long as autumn lasts I won’t have enough hands, canvas or colors to paint the beautiful things that I see.” Vincent Van Gogh

A love letter to maple trees, to Toulouse-Lautrec and his dancers.

                  The Sugar Maple

        When, upon the sunlit stage,
           the maple takes her turn,
                 all eyes are on her.
               From her uppermost  
            thence to her outermost,
                 our eyes roam and 
                 the flame spreads.
   
               Though she may still
         be half green, this only sets
              her reds and oranges 
                     yet more afire.
            She cannot help herself,
                  the sugar courses
                  through her limbs,
                 her time has come,
                      she will shine.

             She is the grand dame
                      of the forest, 
       the most captivating dancer 
                  in the chorus line.
           She stands out with ease,
               she takes our breath 
            with every wave of wind.
            With each crimson flash
                    we are undone.
 
              Only the blackhearted,
              the absent or the blind
          are immune to your beauty. 
                We in this front row,
             have all succumbed to
           your incandescent luster.

             Perhaps with darkness
         the enchantment will break.
          Or, we might most happily 
                  sleep and dream
               of that preposterous, 
             ludicrous, luscious red.
               Let any man bearing 
         the antidote to this delirium 
          be banished till the curtain,
                  and all the leaves,
                       have fallen.

                             9/23