The way that the curl of a fern twists and lingers like a sour taste in the air

Reminds me of the way a rock hides a snail whose shell spirals in on itself

Like a beech tree hovering in the sunset the light is diffuse and shadowed 

Just like a full rich waterfall with spiderwebs glinting up and over the edge

Where the way the curl of a fern creates fingers of gossamer writ in the air

Unbroken yet everchanging