So much courage and optimism are required to be a maple mini me, two small leaves, parallel to the sky, above a would-be trunk, now just a stem with less stature than a new blade of grass.
The seedlings in the woods can succumb to catastrophes–being eaten, or casually trampled by deer or a Labrador chasing down a ball. And those around the house may someday reclaim the lawn. But not this year. The mower approaches.