When a Pine Cone Falls
Winter brings a stillness sought by those who beg time to
reflect.
It brings calm that creates space,
Vast opportunity to explore desolate reaches where most
dare not walk.
Howling wind and chill keep them at home.
There was a time when I’d do those winter weekends on the
Cape,
Guest of a hermit friend who found joy in it, too,
Always welcomed by cedar wood crackling in the cast iron fireplace,
A stew or soup on
the stove.
Quotidian outings found us combing desolate dunes,
Serenely searching droppings of birds of prey,
Their recent meals discovered in dissected remains,
Scat found buried in windswept sands.
We’d stoop and pick at winter’s nature,
Marveling at the hardiness of sea grape and grasses,
Gathering up that which had singular beauty.
Such wonder we shared in those cycles of life revealed on
winter walks.
What does it mean
When a pine cone falls?
-RF,
January 2015
[Gone now, my hermit friend, but not my love for him
and the lessons he taught me.]
