i rode by this little sumac plant and it called out "hey!"
so i hammered on my bicycle's brakes and turned back
and it said "what?
am i not good enough for a picture?
well, what about this:"
"oh my sweet" i replied, "i imagine the great grandchildren of the monarch butterflies who rested on your crimson fingers just weeks ago are talking about you in their little mexican valley.
the deer eating the sweet white oak acorns across that field are thinking back to the last time they passed you under a similarly blue and cloudless sky.
the painted turtle who crossed from the marsh just behind you to the little pond on the other side of this path is singing a little song to himself
about the girl turtle he left behind.
the one who lived just back of the crimson sumac."
"yes my treasure, you're famous without even trying."