Spores.

I love that word. I think it's cute-sounding.

Spores. Masses of microspores. Pollen. I love the way pollen looks. Funny, furry, delightful, little, bright yellow, spherical bundles. They fall from the trees and litter the ground lightly like a thin, carefree layer of fuzzy, clumpy snow... easily crushable into a fine heap of spore particles.

I had pollen balls on the hood of my car this morning. They bumbled off when I started driving, and left behind a dust-like stratum of yellow, making my car appear an irridescent yellow-black color from certain angles in the sunlight.

I hate dust, but I like spores. I'm not allergic to spores.

Spores are so full of promise. Promise of more. Good or evil things to come. Mainly bad things. Like in video games, when the evil spores burst and release vicious parasites and monsters or toxic liquids and gases. Out of these seemingly harmless, nicely packaged, often tiny, yet prolific spores come all manner of pestilence and horror and malice that could seize the planet and destroy all of its life forms within months, maybe even days.

And that's just pretty darn cute... isn't it?