Pollen

Full spring.
Pollen drifts over cars and homes and lawn furniture, a thin yellow-green coating that pools when there is dew into yellow polka dots.
Last night it rained. At the edge of the pavement the pollen was swept into a high-tide mark, an irregular yellow band where stormwater crested against the concrete lip and receded.
Plant life is not so exuberant everywhere, thowing its wealth like Mardi Gras krewes casting beads.
I remember, though, that the pine forests in Maine spread such a golden coating across the lakes. At Lily Bay I waded out and parted a curtain onto cold, dark water.