The layers of sumac fronds,
each a different shade of green
depending on how the sun
catches them or whether it does,
remind me of paintings by an artist
whose name I can’t recall.
But another memory comes to mind
of sitting with my dad on a sand dune
overlooking Lake Superior watching
the sun drop through a sky drenched
in pinks and corals, aqua, blazing gold.
We were silent for a long time.
Then my dad said, “Whoever paints those
sure does a great job.”
That about says it all.
I look at the sumac and smile.