Come, you bees and
ants and eight-leggedtransporters and winged philanthropists; come,
      subtle wind and wispsof gentle breath that
take leaves on an invisible carpet of velvetand air, wafts and
      dangles them by a single, invisible string, andbrings them to a
little boy strolling on the white hairs of theAppalachians. Come, little boy who
      lives for the pearls of Octoberand the vague scent brought by seasonal maple,
little boy who sleepsin a dream of poplars, shadowed by red oak;
      come, be the fire'sblaze and crunch and crinkle the veined and
vascular sheet of bubblewrap, your xylemed and phloemed destiny; September's
      lust. Yourleather boots and hand-crafted moccasins,
your soles no thicker thanthe wing of a fruit fly -
      that will do, will flatten the singlelayer and send it on a voyage on a
single invisible strand, atopa
      mound of dirt; work, Evolution. Your time is now, mender ofthe
dull and continuous, the continuous. Take your gradual course,and that crunchy
      leaf is now a towering redwood or a new andimproved species of
arthropods, a woven basket of fruit for theDrosophila.

But child, please do
      not smooth the dirt. Don'tstuff the roots back
into the hiding ground once again, the rootsleft
      loitering by an anonymous raccoon, the roots whose cries lingerand
waver like the ocean, the roots whose fingers yearn to
      coursenew terrain, through its own credulousness like a blind infant insearch
of mother's hands. Young boy, let its calls hang there by itssingular strand
      of nothing; please let
the cries stand still asthe air through which it cuts.
      Lend it new breath; water andnutrients like those sprinkled by celestial
showers; give new handsand eyes, gardens
      of ornaments and blossoms stroked with fingerpaints from your
tool box buried in the basement beneath ancientheirlooms
      and artifacts. Lend it new breath - your own.

ForEvolution's sake, sing to and
      awaken every dormant
thing; everymassacred bough and stripped bark from frost's pinch;
      you mustserenade them with
vibratos and crescendos and mezzo pianos,hushed,
      muffled like nebula. Save
your hypnotic chants andlullabies
      for now,
for now, the ones grandmas hum like prayerswhen
blankets and Dusk settles and
falls with ease andindifference. Sing brightly of botanical manifest
      destiny, singlively of nature's migration, child; sing
brightly. Your youthfulsoprano will do just fine. The deep bellow of
      the baritone isimminent, but in the meantime, you must
sing high and brightly,child. The
      twine and needle, Drosophila awaits its basket
andyour touch.