I consider the pine cones I come across
on sidewalks, on lawns, in streets,
as visual treats,
morsels of nature’s
beauty feast,
so tempting
I sometimes fill
a to-go bag
and take them
home with me
to heap in bowls,
and display on
railings of balconies.
What varieties!
Chartreuse cones
fat as cucumbers,
scales so tightly closed,
they feel almost smooth.
Open-scaled cones, dry,
rough, smaller than walnuts.
Cones bleached white by sun.
Cones coated with stickiness
I’m stuck with if I pick them up.
Cones laden with pollen
that will cover everything
with green flocking,
causing epidemics of itchy eyes
and sneezes non-stopping.
Cones that other creatures
very evidently do not view
as visual treats,
but as actual good eats,
street food gnawed down
until all that’s left are their
woody, corn-cobby bones.
Ann Keiffer
January, 2013
Photo Credit: Gilles Gonthier flickr/Creative Commons
