fecund storm

We are adrift in seeds. Seeddrift. (No, this is not a digression degenerating pornward. Pornward, now there's a new word. Or maybe not.) You see the breeze blowing puffy white fertility carriers, with pockets of accumulation in corners or dusting the tops of unmown grass. Cottonwoods? Tulip trees? Dandelions? Swirls and surficial saturation of potential fertilization, risk-averse, harbingers. Bingers (as in binge-ers) of fecund possibility, riding the crest of natural market conditions.