Genus: Vitis

Framed by the clear late afternoon sky a [grape vine] leaf glowed with what sunlight remained. Subtly waving in the rising summer air, it brushed the tip of my nose to say hello. So close, it waved in and out of blurred focus, slowly enough for me to catch a moment's glimpse of its structure of modern familiarity. Levittown from a mile above: The leaf recalled a streetscape known only to passing birds or scheming developers whose sole rules were density, profit, and feigned rural exclusion. Cul-de-sac sidewalk two-car garage extravaganza, these places simplify that which needs to remain complex.

Six thousand acres and twenty-two thousand lots breath no life. But the one leaf of one lot of one acre inhales during summer and exhales during autumn, a beautiful birth and death [unknown to he who calls himself owner] in unison with all else whose only currency is infinite cyclical life.