When a fern says hello,
you should be flattered.

Walking under this autumn-drench
of late fall’s lingering leaves,
rust-colored at their brightest—

all crowding out from a fence—

suddenly your chin is smoothed
by a still green fern’s
frond-caress.

Tingle.

Three hundred million years have said hello!

Making you feel as young
as the sudden, fluttering snowflakes

whirling in November’s
newborn rising wind.